


Dark Dreams

by Layomshael



Series: The Fire and the Rose are One [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Abusive Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust-Typical Sexual Content (Hazbin Hotel), Aromantic Angel Dust, Aromantic Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Bottom Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Brainwashing, Cupiosexual Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Developing Relationship, Dom Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Drugged Sex, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flustered Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Genderqueer Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Intersex Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Jealous Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mind Control, Poor Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Possessive Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Play, Protective Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Protective Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Protective Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Psychological Trauma, Queerplatonic Relationships, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Worker Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Sex-Favorable Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Soft Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Traumatized Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Traumatized Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Unresolved Sexual Tension, radiodust - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-28 13:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Layomshael/pseuds/Layomshael
Summary: This is it. Hell. Death. The Big Sleep. And it's pretty much what you'd expect - crappy.  So what are a bunch of lost souls to do? One bored radio host and a severely underestimated sex worker later, an unusual relationship develops. But damned souls aren't very good at kindness, forgiveness or empathy, and relationships are hard under the best circumstances. Things get a lot uglier when you throw in psychopathy, abusive exes, and convoluted demon deals. Yeah, Angel would love to finally be accepted by someone - but is Alastor even capable of affection?A Hazbin Hotel / RadioDust story. All characters belong to and are copyrighted by Vivienne Medrano and SpindleHorse Toons. This work is intended as fanfiction only and does not claim ownership or copyright of any character.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust/Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino/Vox (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: The Fire and the Rose are One [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2218347
Comments: 18
Kudos: 34





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For those who need trigger warnings, please be cautious with this story and mind the tags! It gets deep into some complex issues and plays around with the reasons that Hell is Hell. 
> 
> The prologue is short, but don't worry darlings - I've got nine chapters written for you so far and more to come :)
> 
> This is the first fanfiction I've ever shared publicly. I'm excited to finally write some characters who are "similar" to me (aroace, genderqueer, dealing with trauma). I hope y'all like it.

"So, what you're saying is you've had enough?"

"...No!"

Husker blinked loudly at the Radio Demon, and shook his head in mock wonder. "For a guy who swears he's some kind of moral blessing upon Hell, you sure got a lotta nerve dragging me out here."

"I'm sorry," Alastor purred, swirling the whiskey in his glass with a hooded glance at Husk. "Do I hear you offering to repay me for all the liquor I've purchased this evening?"

"Fuck you."

"If you wish."

Husk wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, yer done. No more of this." He snatched the whiskey from Alastor's hand and downed it, slamming the glass down on the bar with a huff as his drinking companion gave him a long-suffering eyeroll.

"My dear Husker," he murmured, the gentle susurration of the words the only clue that Alastor had been drinking. "I'm surprised at you. Since when do you think you have any right to tell me what I can and cannot do?" The sharp crackle of radio static faded as he finished the sentence, reaching over to grip Husk by his neck, curling the very tips of fingers into the fur at his nape.

Husk only rolled his eyes. "Aw, shaddup, you asshole." He wiggled his fingers under Alastor's grip and pushed him away. Under most circumstances, Al would have doubled down, but he was in too fine a mood to bother. Instead he allowed Husk to move him away in fluid motion, and swept a hand between his ears with a gentle flick of each left and right, a looseness in his bearing that felt alien.

"You wound me," he murmured, clasping his heart. Or rather, clasping the area of his chest where his heart SHOULD be. "My companion!"

"Alastor." This time Husk's voice was deadpan. "Yer done."

Red eyes narrowed at the cat, and Al twirled his microphone into his hand to press it into Husk's chest. "Don't test me, Husker. I didn't ask you for your opinion."

"Pft." Husk shook his head. "Okay, fine. If you can manage to walk to that pinball machine -" he pointed across the room "- then we can stay. If not, you go home. You can drink yerself into a stupor at the Hotel."

The deer's eyes narrowed sharply. "Deal."

Husk chuckled. He hadn't expected Alastor to use the magic word. He'd already won, but that wasn't all that important. There was gonna be hell to pay tomorrow...but for now he'd get his kicks.

Pushing back from the bar, Alastor snapped the microphone to the floor and made a truly valiant effort to make it to the other side of the room. Unfortunately, about halfway there, an imp appeared out of nowhere and ran smack into his side, sending both of them spinning. Al managed to gracefully save himself from utter humiliation by collapsing into a nearby empty chair, but the game was lost. He threw himself dramatically over the back of the chair, tossing a hand over his eyes.

"Ah, lost!" He grinned at Husk across the room, shrugged, and snapped. By the time the swirl of dark smoke cleared, the Radio Demon was gone.


	2. Send me an Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel and Alastor aren't friends. They aren't enemies. They just...aren't. It's easier for each to avoid the other than to deal with the frustration of interaction. So when Angel finds Alastor fumbling around Husk's bar in the middle of the night, his response is more annoyance than anything else. 
> 
> At least, at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use Haitian Creole, Italian, and French throughout this story, but I'm not fluent in any of them, so please forgive my crummy translations. I'll make sure to include any translations in the notes for those who want to know what's being said.
> 
> Also....y'know....please comment if ya wanna. I appreciate it :)
> 
> Mon Ange = my Angel  
> Jije mwen lè ou pafè = Judge me when you're perfect.  
> Èske gen yon pwoblèm = Is there a problem?  
> Mon arachnide enrobé de bonbons = my candy-coated arachnid

By two in the morning, the Hotel was typically silent - so it wasn't a big surprise that the sound of breaking glass and crunching wood roused Angel from a light sleep. He patted Fat Nuggets on the head and shrugged. "Stay here. Dad's gotta find out what the fuck's goin' on downstairs."

He shrugged on a thin silk robe without bothering to tie it and slid his unpleasant toes into ankle-high slippers that at least hid the ugly things enough to make him presentable. Fat Nuggets huffed at his feet as he slipped out of his room, and he gently pushed the pig back as he closed the door. "Shh. I'll be right back, baby."

He'd assumed it was Husker making all the racket, so he hadn't really bothered to dress or even smooth his fluff as he tromped angrily down the staircase, waving his hands in annoyance. "Do ya fuckin' mind, ya fuckin' lush? People are tryin'a sleep here!"

The head that popped up behind the bar brought Angel to a sharp stop. Without thinking, he half-shouted a "What the FUCK?!" before slapping his hand over his mouth and backing away from the Radio Demon slowly.

"Ah, Angel Dust!" Alastor's eyes were unusually matte and half-lidded, his expression uncharacteristically warm as he waved a bottle of Old Forester at the spider. "Care to join me?"

Angel stared openly, mouth agape. "Uh, Al? You okay?"

The Radio Demon glanced around as if confused by the question and raised his arms in a gentle shrug. "Yes?" He popped the cork out of the bottle to take several deep swallows. "You know, my dear fellow, it is rude to stare." Alastor wiped his lips with the back of his hand and set the open bottle on the bartop.

"Ya gotta be kiddin'." Angel crossed the room and hopped up on one of the barstools, resting his head in his palms as he watched Alastor with a combination of disbelief and wary interest. "I mean, drinkin' straight outta the bottle seems..."

"Uncouth?" Alastor's ears twitched again, and those intense eyes turned on Angel, who quietly wrung his hands in his lap to try and keep any expression from his face. Somehow, Al in this state was even more appealing than usual. Angel shivered as gentle shocks of desire snaked down his spine. Danger. This was danger. Do not engage. But he couldn't help himself. The flat, calm, slightly dreamy look in the Radio Demon's eyes was so far removed from his usual shiny, predatory stare. No less intense...no less dangerous. But...different.

"Ya think?" Angel fluttered his eyelashes, playing coy. "I mean, it's just....not yer usual look, ya know? I didn't figure you fer a drinker at all. Much less..."

Alastor groaned and covered his face with a hand, feigning dismay. "Yes, my dear Angel Dust, I drink. Often heavily. Not that it is any business of yours." If Angel hadn't known better, he would have thought the last few syllables of that sentence sounded...almost irritated. "Why is everyone so preoccupied with what I do and do not do?"

"I mean....maybe 'cuz yer entire MO is to scare the crap outta 'em?" Angel shrugged and dropped the sexy act. It never worked on Al anyway. "Ya gonna share? If not, hand me that bottle of Vieille."

Alastor's brows jumped and his ears perked forward. "Absinthe? Quite a classy choice. I suppose you want sugar and a spoon?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Angel cooed, resting his chest just above the bar so the fluff created a gentle bulge below his collarbones. "I always cum prepared." He reached into the fluff and pulled out a spoon and a lighter. "Besides that, din'cha jus' hassle me fer being....what was it? Preoccupied wit wha'cha do and don't do?"

"Of course you do. Why am I surprised." Using only his fingertips, the deer lifted the bottle and twirled it once before sliding it across the well-waxed bartop to Angel's waiting hands. He made note of the flush this brought to the spider's pale face, but his own expression remained sourly stuck in his usual not-smile. The flush faded quickly as Angel watched him. "Problem?" His voice was genteel, but curt, nearly curdled.

Angel shrugged, working hard to keep the flinch from his gesture at the bitter notes in the Radio Demon's tone. "A'course not. Just surprised yer so good wit yer fingers." He winked, and barely caught the glass that Alastor slid to him down the bar. "Are you that...dextrous...all the time?"

"Dextrous..." Alastor's whiskey-tangled tongue slipped on the word and he lost his hold on his cranky attitude, the corners of his lips curling up at the edges of his smile. "Now, that's a five dollar word from our precious Angel." Behind him, the stag's ever-present shadow smirked from the wall in a wide grimace, showing teeth.

"Y'know, I'm not fuckin' stupid. Kinda gettin' tired of everybody assumin' I am." Angel's eyes flicked to the shadow. The presence hadn't gone unnoticed, and neither had the wolfish grin. Yeah, I see you back there, ya fucker. Lickin' yer chops for me, huh? But he said nothing. Better not to tempt fate.

The deer demon looked taken aback, and his ears twitched in surprise. "Did I say I believed you were stupid?" There was a slight fuzz in his crimson eyes Angel had never seen before, and a flicker of something in his voice that almost sounded like...concern?

"Nah." The word came out firmer and louder than he'd intended. Maybe it was just to brush off the strangeness of Al's tone, or maybe he was defending himself from further prying. He wasn't really sure. "Nah, it ain't you. I mean, not really."

"Not really." Alastor took a deep swig from the bottle and gracefully hoisted himself onto the bar, crossing his legs primly. "So, it is me. Whether you want to say so, or not." The deer demon's head hung forward the tiniest bit, barely swaying as he spoke. "I don't mean to insult you, you know. I have absolutely no issue with you whatsoever."

Angel snorted softly. "No issue, huh?" He poured the green liquid deftly, flicking the lighter and holding the spoon with one of his secondary hands as the absinthe cascaded over the melting sugar and into his glass. Without another word, he swept the glass up and swallowed it in one motion. "Yer fuckin' wit me. I dunno why, an' I'm not sure I care. But just...fuckin' stop. It ain't funny."

"Angel." The Radio Demon's voice was hard and tight, with no whisper of the earlier slur. "I am not 'fucking' with you. Nor am I joking. When I say I have no issue with you, I mean I have no issue with you. None."

It was...strange. Not Alastor-like in the slightest. This whole thing was terribly unsettling at the best, and downright hair-raising at worst.

Alastor's sober voice didn't last long. The slur came back with a vengeance, and so did the strange, soft smile that Angel found so unnerving. "Angel, we're all sinners here. What right would I have to judge your sins as greater than my own?"

That was a surprise, to say the least. Angel was stunned - so much so he couldn't muster a response. He just...stared. Who in Hell was he talking to? Because it certainly wasn't Alastor, the Radio Demon, dangerous mastermind.

And then Alastor did something even more surprising. Something Angel didn't know he COULD do. He threw his head back and laughed - a real laugh, not a laugh track. A sound deep from his gut, his ears slowly drooping until they nearly touched his shoulders.

"Ah, Angel. Don't look so surprised." The more he relaxed, the more slippery each s became, stretching out and fumbling up against the nearest vowel. Angel felt a smile creep up his cheeks in spite of himself. It was kind of cute. Terrifyingly abnormal, but cute.

"Why not?" He poured another bright green glass of liquid and swallowed it down, letting the warmth trickle down his throat and into his head. It was a goddamn blessed relief. It wasn't that the Radio Demon scared him. Not really. He was Valentino's fucking slave anyway, and even Alastor didn't dare fuck with another Overlord's bound soul. But there was something sweet about seeing Al with his sharp edges blurred smooth by drink. And maybe it was a tiny bit scary. Just...just a tiny bit.

"I'm not a monster."

"Ya sure?" Angel shrugged slowly. "I mean, if ya believe the rumors, you're a pretty dangerous guy, Mistah Alastor." The spider didn't miss the bright flush that crept over Alastor's features at the addition of the "mister". He leaned in. "You're unpredictable onna good day. An' you're drunk. I make it my biz to avoid gettin' involved with dangerous drunks."

"Again," Alastor said, leaning forward across the bar until his nose nearly touched Angel's, his voice dark and velvet and crackling. "Why do you make these assumptions, mon ange? I daresay you cannot tell my mental state or level of inebriation simply by looking. But more than that, why on earth would you consider me dangerous? We have cohabitated this hotel for nearly a year and I have done you no harm. You are not stupid, and I am not a mindless machine of violence. Jije mwen lè ou pafè."

"No frikkin' French." Angel glowered. "I can't understand a goddamn word you're sayin'."

"It is not French. It is Haitian Creole. And perhaps that is how I like it." Alastor and his shadow both smiled invitingly at Angel, his face so close the spider could smell the spicy coldness of his skin and the whiskey on his breath. So close that Angel felt his body twitch in response, prepared to be pounced, kissed, taken. It was an utter reflex, a purely conditioned response born from his relationship with Valentino and his work, but the reaction didn't go unnoticed. For just a second, the Radio Demon's eyes narrowed hungrily and Angel had to swallow an undignified sound of nervous lust.

"UGH!" Covering for himself, Angel downed another glass of absinthe and threw up four of his six arms. "You're impossible. It's two in the damn mornin', you're down here destroyin' the place and wakin' me up, and now we're gonna play games? I'm going back ta bed." Get out. Run. Run before he...he...sudden terror made Angel's stomach sour. Before he devours you. He'd turned halfway from the bar and was about to stomp away in a huff when the cool sensation of something around his wrists stopped him short. His body responded and he went slack, his head dropping as hot tears prickled in the corners of his eyes, standing submissively. Cold. The cold was deep and sharp, and it sent strange ripples through Angel's bones. Panic twisted in his chest. Under his breath, he whimpered, turning his head away so Alastor couldn't see the fear in his face. But he couldn't hide from the Radio Demon.

The cold faded, and was slowly replaced with a gentle vibration that made all his hairs stand on end.

"Èske gen yon pwoblèm? Why do you flinch?" Alastor's head was tilted slightly, cupped in his left hand, his face pink and open. The grin was gone, replaced by an expression Angel had never seen and couldn't quite place.

"Just lemme go." Angel's voice was raw and barely controlled as he pulled against the thick black tentacles. There was no resistance; the tentacles vanished with the slightest pressure. Alastor looked chastised, but more than that, he looked bewildered. Almost lost. The very tips of his ears flickered up and down, their lengths swivelling toward and away from Angel.

"I...." The deer fumbled awkwardly and bit his lower lip. "Of course. I told you, I mean you no harm."

Anger warred with fear and self-loathing in Angel's chest as he tried to calm himself down. What in the name of all that was unholy was going on? Since when did Alastor regret ANYTHING? And yet, regret was written clearly in his features. No. This was a trick. Angel faltered. There was something soft and appealing about that expression, something that made his heart flutter and his limbs quiver in spite of his best judgment. No. No. Not safe. Run.

"It's okay." His tone was guarded, and he didn't turn back to Alastor. All four of his visible limbs were wrapped protectively around his torso.

"Angel."

Fuck. Angel's mouth twisted as if he'd bitten into something rotten. "Stoppit." When he lifted his head, there was fury in his face, his fangs bared. "Stoppit!" He stalked toward the bar, rage overflowing his control as he slammed his hands down on the bartop, making Alastor pull his legs away to avoid the strike. "You don't get ta use my fuckin' name, do you hear me? Fuck you an' yer games, Alastor. Just stop. Tell me what th'fuck y'want from me so I can go back to bed. I know it's somethin'. So spit it the fuck out. I ain't worth yer time unless yer plannin' on makin' a deal with me or eatin' me. I don't really give a shit which it is. Just fuckin' do it already."

The Radio Demon's eyes went completely blank. For a minute there was a loud crackle of static and then a long off-air beep as Alastor's unmoving body stared at Angel. Then the deer blinked, tilted his head so far to the left Angel thought it just might fall off, and burst into laughter.

"Why, my delectable arachnid, as delicious as you may appear to me I assure you my tastes are far from that exotic." Alastor's grin widened. "Besides, eating you would hardly be worth my time." He poured the last drops from his whiskey bottle into Angel's glass, swirling the amber liquid slowly before offering the glass to the spider. "Look at you! Far too lean, my dear - and if I may be so bold as to suggest, I would imagine altogether too sweet." The word lingered, the expression on the Radio Demon's face indicating layers of meaning that made Angel's brows knit. "Am I wrong about my assessment of your...meat...mon arachnide enrobé de bonbons?"

Angel grinned in spite of himself, cautiously, but at least honestly. "That was definitely French, ya liar. An' I've got no fuckin' idea what that meant, except something about spider and candy."

Alastor's eyes narrowed wickedly, crows' feet in their corners from the width of his smile. "Perhaps you will simply need to learn some French, then, my fine furry friend."

With a non-committal shrug, Angel plucked the glass from Alastor's gloved hands and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose. "I'll drink this pig piss if ya drink some Absinthe."

"Foul stuff," Alastor said with a huff, wrinkling his own nose. "And a terrible insult to the good name of whiskey. But I suppose I could agree."

"On what condition?" The spider's left eyebrow cocked up, but his arms were slowly releasing their hold of his torso. Alastor didn't miss the fact, and took the opportunity to attempt to defuse the fluffy bomb to the best of his limited ability. He had many skills, but disarming an emotional harlot was not one of them. Frankly, his entire set of social skills was, at best, terribly rusty. Some pieces might have been missing altogether. Probably from birth. After all, it took more than a little insanity to spawn a serial killer.

"No conditions," he said smoothly. "Simply a promise of secrecy."

Angel giggled warmly, the first sign he'd shown that he might relax and actually consider Alastor's words. "An' just what exactly am I promisin' ta keep a secret, Smiles?"

"Why, anything that comes after my next drink, of course," Alastor nearly purred, a dark throatiness in his words that made Angel's face and neck flush bright pink. "After all, wasn't it you yourself who mentioned that my behavior was uncouth? Unsuited to my role as an Overlord? I simply couldn't have such a rumor leave the doors of the hotel. What would the others think?"

Angel shook his head slowly, sucking his teeth. "You're so fulla shit sometimes I wonder if there's room in there for anything else. Still...I suppose I could keep my mouth shut on this one. Assumin' y'ain't playin' me. If you're lyin', deal's off. Fair?"

Alastor considered this for a long moment as he poured a glass of Absinthe with markedly less dexterity than he might have liked. His eyes caught Angel's as he spilt a little liquid down the side of the cup, and he glanced away a bit too quickly when the spider grinned and licked his lips, his smile getting wider as he stretched one of his hands out toward Alastor. "So, it's a deal, then?" His voice mimicked the Radio Demon's lilted speech so clearly that Al shook his head and chuckled.

"I suppose it is." When his hand touched Angel's, there was a whisper of breeze, something that barely stirred Alastor's ears and Angel's chest-floof, but nevertheless crackled with energy between them.

"That happen a lot?" Angel teased, knocking back the whiskey with a shudder.

"If you mean that in a manner that is lewd or obscene," the Radio Demon murmured warmly, sipping the Absinthe with a shiver much similar to Angel's, "then no, it does not. But yes, every deal. Regardless of terms." He swirled the green liquid in the glass. "How does one obtain a taste for this? It tastes so terribly strongly of anise."

"Better than pig piss." Angel was giggling again, leaning into the bartop, his eyes bright with amusement. Alastor found that expression disturbingly alluring in a way he hadn't before. He swallowed, insisting to himself it was alcohol doing his thinking, and that a friendly face was a friendly face. "Whiskey is not pig piss," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Agree ta disagree." Angel leaned closer, breathing in the absinthe on the deer's breath, and smiled. "I gotta say, though, it's pretty fuckin' funny to hear ya say 'pig piss'."

"Honestly. That's what amuses you?"

"It don't take much." Angel propped his elbows on the bar and began peeling off his hot-pink gloves, finger-by-finger. "I'm kinda a simple guy."

"I thought you just said you weren't stupid." Alastor shifted to perch atop the bar cross-legged, his hands cupping a second glass of Absinthe that Angel hadn't even seen him pour. Angel didn't mention the glass. Better not to test his luck. It had been pretty poor, if he did a reckoning of all his time in Hell. Piss poor, even. He snickered.

"I ain't. But simple an' stupid ain't the same thing." He reached an ungloved hand out and brushed Alastor's gloved fingers with his naked ones. Somehow, that felt surprisingly sexual in this context. Clearly Alastor agreed, because he flushed brightly and pulled his hand away, slugging down the drink.

"How many ya had?" The deer demon was visibly wobbling as he perched on the bartop, and Angel was starting to wonder if maybe he should ease up. He didn't like puking, and he liked it even less when someone else was doing it. Especially since, as the most experienced and typically most tolerant of any group, he had the bad luck of having to hold everybody's hair while they did it.

"None of your business," Alastor muttered, pouring and downing another. "Not enough to scrub my head clean of this gods-forsaken shithole."

Angel was surprised at that. Not just the cursing, but...but the strange tone of Alastor's voice. Was this just alcohol talking, or was there more to it? Angel knew more than his fair share about getting blasted for the sake of honesty and escapism. It just didn't seem like something Alastor would do. Then again, he supposed, he didn't really know much about the Radio Demon at all. At least, not anything he hadn't heard through a grapevine, ugly rumors, strange half-truths...none of it was really who Alastor was. Was it?

"Y'know," Angel said, picking his words carefully. "I ain't gonna judge ya. Or ask ya questions, or...whatever. We're all sinners here, remember?" He paused. "An' honestly, I'm the worst of ya. Just...a big ol' fuckin'...whore...just a...." His voice broke. "Nah. That ain't all of it. I ain't here fer whorin'. But you knew that already, right? We don't get here just fer....fer bein..." Angel blinked away a few emotional tears, swallowed hard, and pushed the drunkenness back. "I killed plenny'a people when I was alive. Some on purpose, some not. Prolly not as many as you, but plenny."

The Radio Demon simply watched him in silence. He didn't smile. It was the first time he hadn't, Angel found himself thinking, and it was unsettling. Alastor, meanwhile, was lost in his own thoughts. Had he realized he'd ceased smiling, he would, of course, have rectified the fact immediately. Smiling was a sign of strength. It kept him safe, in its own way. To be without a smile was to be...vulnerable. Weak.

"I am tired," he said, finally, his voice far away. "Tired of killing. There is no joy in it any longer. Not for a long time."

"Wouldja believe me if I said there's no joy in fuckin' or gettin' high for me, either?" Angel smiled sadly. "I mean, it ain't entirely true. It's still fun. But..." Angel paused.

"Empty, sometimes?"

Angel didn't look up to see Alastor's look of longing, of wistfulness. "Yeah. Empty."

"After all," the Radio Demon whispered, a static sound that made Angel's skin crawl, "there is no undoing what is done. The punishment is...this." His smile flickered a little and buzzed back to life at the callback. The soft sound of electrical humming filled the room.

"It'd be too good ta be true if it weren't empty," Angel agreed, reaching for the bottle of absinthe. Alastor didn't stop him, but did hold out his glass. "Not judgin', but I ain't gonna hold yer hair for ya if ya ralph, so maybe take it easy."

Alastor didn't respond. He just shook the glass at Angel, his head lowered and his eyes closed, looking almost defeated. Angel filled it and had barely blinked before the liquid was gone. He snatched the cup, filled it for himself, and shifted both the glass and the bottle away from the deer. The fourth glass burned his throat, but he didn't care. He was going to need it if he was going to get through this alive. Or...or he was going to need it if this was the night he died. Either way.

Angel swallowed hard. "Alastor..."

The red eyes flared to vivid life with a radio squeal and a buzz of energy. The spider flinched, but didn't back down. He reached out and put a hand on Al's knee where he sat cross-legged. And then he held very...very...very still. It was like petting a wild animal, Angel figured. If he moved too suddenly or did something to raise the Radio Demon's wrath, he was likely to lose the limb. Still...he'd never seen the Overlord look so...broken. He always had a manic energy, sure, the kind that any good psycho killer had, but this...this felt like real madness. Despair that had begun to crack the carefully crafted mask Alastor wore.

Alastor's head tilted, slowly, mechanically, until those eyes shifted from Angel's hand to his face. There was nothingness in the Radio Demon's eyes. It wasn't emptiness, either. Angel's brows knit as Alastor continued to stare blankly, his face unreadable and yet...that nothingness said something. It said everything. Its alien emotionlessness might has well have screamed it out. Alastor had finally found an outside context problem. He had no way to process this, and his eyes registered that total lack of comprehension by going dark.

The lights in the room flickered hard, and there was a high pitched electrical whine as they grew brighter and brighter until one by one the bulbs burst with a pop and tinkle of breaking glass. The room fell into complete darkness.

In the black, Angel's fur flouresced, the glow of his magenta eyes barely enough to make him out in the darkness. He shifted, taking a deep breath and praying to the God who'd sent him here in the first place that the act wasn't going to be his last. He didn't want to know what happened if you died in Hell. If that were even possible.

Carefully, slowly, he slipped his hands up to either side of Alastor's face, his bare palms cupping the stag's heated cheeks. His thumbs ran over Alastor's cheekbones, and he was surprised to find them damp with black liquid. Was that...was Alastor...

"Hey," he whispered when his hands weren't immediately devoured. He climbed up onto the bar, sidling up to the Radio Demon's side and taking the deer's gloved hands in his own second pair. "Al. Are...are ya cryin'?"

An unhinged chuckle echoed in the room. It didn't just come from Alastor's body, either - it seemed to bounce around, left, right, up, down. The shadows giggled back, tittering as they fluttered around the room. Hundreds of pale eyes lit up the corners of the hotel lobby, surrounding Alastor in a cloud of lightless flames.

"Of course not," the Radio Demon murmured, voice blurred beyond recognition. In the darkness, his smile flared back to life, glowing burnt gold and throwing long shadows across the room that seemed to shriek in glee at his obvious suffering.

Angel shivered and took a deep breath. Al needed him, that was clear. Or...at least, he needed somebody. Angel wasn't much, but he also wouldn't be missed if this turned into a slaughter. Maybe...maybe he could make a difference.

"Ya don't haveta lie ta me. I ain't gonna tell anyone. Hey, I should be flattered, right? Afta' all..." he leaned in and whispered into the Radio Demon's ear, his voice cool and sensual. "Yer never fully dressed wit outta smile."

Before he had even a second to understand what was happening, Angel found himself violently thrown onto his back on the bar, Alastor's demon form pinning him down, his eyes burning ghost lights deep in a fleshless skull. The smile was terrifying now, a wicked grimace, and Angel felt tears in his own eyes. He knew how this felt. To be broken down to the core, to the animal instincts that kept you alive. Hell was great at doing this to you.

A shuddering half-sobbed laugh escaped him. "It's okay. If...if yer gonna kill me, I mean. I ain't got nobody who's gonna miss me, y'know. I'm just a toy for Val an' his fuckin' buddies. Just...just promise me if ya do, yer gonna help ChaCha. She believes in our sorry selves."

The creature hovering over him tilted its head owlishly, as if confused, and whuffled into his chest fluff. Angel wasn't sure if it felt threatening, or....well, sad, maybe. It did feel sad. Angel tried to smile up at the Radio Demon, tried to will his face to show happiness and calm, and it worked...sort of. He was pretty sure his smile was sad, but even so, Alastor's body began to shrink, shakily collapsing onto Angel's chest. The shadows curled in on themselves closer and closer, and as they tightened into a shimmering lump of coal about the size of Alastor's human form, the lights in the room flickered back to life. In swirls of smoke with gentle 'poofs', the lightbulbs appeared, and a soft reddish-white light illuminated the lobby again.

When the light hit the two of them, Alastor flinched. His body burned, still generating waves of immense power that had slipped loose when he'd lost control. The light hurt, but it was a clean pain, like scrubbing a raw wound in the bath. He tried to lift his ears, but exhaustion kept him nearly immobile. He was staring sideways into Angel's face, his own resting on the spider's chest and wet with tears, trying to comprehend through the whirl of alcohol what had just happened.

He remembered what Angel had said, even if only with half his mind. His eyes narrowed in confusion. "Why in all Hell would I want to kill you?"

Angel's smile went from dim to luminous. "Well thank fuck!" He shook his head and pulled an arm out from under Alastor to clasp his chest. "I thought ya'd gone and double-died, ya creepy fucker!"

Now Alastor was even more confused. He tried to sit up, slowly, and found himself sinking back into Angel's lap with a giddy half-sobbed chuckle. "First of all, language," he managed, making a second attempt to sit up and this time, mostly succeeding. "Secondly, give me that bottle immediately."

Angel didn't argue. He was too busy remembering how to breathe and thanking his godless universe that he hadn't just been devoured by the Radio Demon. The adrenaline nearly knocked him down. He didn't know his heart COULD beat this fast anymore, not after decades of abuse and several dumptrucks' worth of cocaine. He watched Alastor absolutely devour the remaining absinthe, and for a moment his eyes glowed green. Then he shook his head, brushing tears off his eyelashes and staring at his inkstained fingertips with bemusement.

"Of course I didn't die. Why would you think such a thing? I am perfectly -" The sentence stopped before the word 'fine', and Angel caught a strange flicker of light in the deer's glowing eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, ya just keep tellin' yerself that," he muttered, pushing back from the bar. "You've had more liquor'n I could drink inna day in less'n two hours. An' I know ya were drinkin' before ya got home, 'cuz y'were ruffled ta shit when I got down 'ere, an' I ain't never seen ya ruffled before, ever."

Alastor's eyes flared, and for a second Angel thought he was furious and he'd finally made the misstep that was going to end him. But instead of killing him, Alastor burst into the same unhinged laughter as he had earlier. "Ah, Angel. If only it mattered." The Radio Demon leaned back, crossing his ankles as he stretched his legs out on the bar and propped himself up with his palms on the bartop. "Nothing quiets my mind," he said softly, tapping the side of his head. "Not even hundreds of drinks. Nothing."

Angel's eyes widened a little. He knew what it meant, even if Alastor hadn't said it aloud. In Hell, escaping mattered. It was what kept you from losing it. If you couldn't turn yourself off, couldn't indulge in some vice that would at least temporarily ease the suffering, it...the pain would eat you alive. "Yer kiddin'," he said softly. "Nothin'? Fer how long?"

"Nothing. Oh, who knows. Ten years, twenty? Fifty?" Alastor's ears flickered. "Who even remembers such things?"

"Fuck," Angel breathed, impressed. "An' you're still...." He gestured up and down Alastor's body. "Y'know?"

"Sane?" The crackling chuckle echoed in the room. "Oh, I doubt that, my dear boy. I wasn't sane when I got here! After all, what is sanity, but the chains of society? Oh, no, I wouldn't waste my time with sanity." Alastor's eyelids lowered, and he offered Angel an almost sultry smile. "But I suppose I'm strong willed enough to remain myself, in spite of all that."

"No kiddin'," Angel muttered. "Most people'd be ragin' fuckin' monsters by now. Down in the pit. How..."

Alastor only shrugged, and Angel felt another bolt of desire electrify his nerves. He couldn't help but be astonished by the knowledge. No wonder Alastor was looking for entertainment. He needed the distraction. How many more decades could he survive without relief from the torture? "I guess bein' such a gentleman has drawbacks in Hell, don't it?"

"You have no idea."

Angel shifted closer and reached out to touch Alastor's face again. He didn't flinch this time. "I should kill you."

"But ya won't."

"I won't."

Angel slowly brushed Al's hair back from his face, wiping away the last of his black tears. Alastor's head shifted ever so slightly into his touch, and Angel increased the pressure, sliding his hand up through the soft strands to stroke Alastor's ears. The motion drew a full-body shudder from the Radio Demon, but he didn't move away.

"Thought ya hated ta be touched."

"I do." Alastor closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "And I don't. I do not like being touched without permission."

"So..."

"So, I am giving you my permission," he slurred, opening his eyes to stare Angel directly in the face. "But I promise that if you tell another undead soul about this, I will make sure you find out exactly what happens when you die twice." Alastor finished the sentence with a torturously sweet smile, one that made all Angel's fur stand on end.

"You got it, suga'." Angel was no stranger to the fear-boner. He had fucked some of the most frightening and powerful creatures in Hell, and Alastor was no exception. The fear honestly made him tingly with anticipation. Something about it brought parts of him to life he thought he'd lost a long time ago to Val. It wasn't that he didn't get afraid anymore...no, he was still afraid. Val managed to come up with new ways to torture him every day. Creative ways, boring ways, unthinkable ways...didn't matter, really. Val was good at torture.

But that fear - the fear with knowledge of pain behind it - it wasn't the same kind of fear that was making his heart pump wildly now. This was fear of the unknown, the strange, the new. It was almost non-existent in Hell. Shit, he'd been here, what? 80 years? Nothing was new anymore. Nothing.

Except Alastor.

Angel shivered as he shifted closer to the Radio Demon. New. Different. Unknown. Totally uncharted. He brushed his fingertips over Alastor's throat, watching his face flush and his eyes go slightly shiny. Even more interesting was the way he stared right into Angel's face, without looking away. Usually, when people were new to this, they got shy. Or nervous. But Alastor was neither - he was just openly curious, a strangely animal inquisitiveness in his features next to what Angel thought might just be the beginning of pleasure.

"So...I gotta know," Angel purred, sliding his hands down to unbutton the first button at Alastor's collar. "Ya don't like fuckin', an', what, ya don't like...relationships, so...what's left?"

Alastor only smiled. "I never said either of those things, did I?" But he didn't move to touch Angel. The spider fascinated him, and for some reason drew his attention in a way he wasn't entirely sure of. "I simply have no desire to...copulate. It is not a drive I possess. And just because I choose not to have romantic partners does not mean I am incapable of relationships. After all, there's more to the word than chocolate, roses, red wine and..." Alastor exhaled, tilting his head and allowing Angel to press his lips to the bare expanse of flesh at his collarbone. A warm sound from his chest made the spider pause. Angel blinked.

"So...what? What is it ya want?"

Alastor shrugged. "Perhaps I don't know the answer to that myself." He leaned up heavily and clumsily rested his forearms over Angel's shoulders, shifting closer until his nose nearly touched Angel's. "Want to find out?"

Angel's heart rate spiked again at this unexpected turn of events. Alastor's totally unpredictable behavior was making him dizzy, and not in a bad way. He'd never honestly considered the deer as a potential partner. Frankly, Alastor's dead-fish prudery was a turn-off as far as Angel was concerned. He wanted praise and attention, and Alastor gave him neither. So why was he suddenly so attracted to him?

"I dunno...what's innit fer me?" His hands didn't stop moving, and he'd unbuttoned most of Alastor's shirt by now. His eyes traced the hundreds of scars that crisscrossed the Radio Demon's skin, lines of silver on dusky flesh.

"Excitement?" Alastor offered, baring his fangs at Angel. "Pleasure?" His eyes hooded and his voice went smoky. "The unique honor of laying claim to the infamous Radio Demon - wouldn't that just be a feather in the cap of Hell's most famous porn star?"

Angel grinned and let out a breathy moan at the suggestion. "Oh, Al, ya do know how to flatter a guy, don'tcha. What can I say...yer not wrong."


	3. Midnight Snack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Angel learns what wendigos are, gets in a fight, and offers the Radio Demon a deal...and Alastor gets himself into more trouble than he bargained for by accepting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mon cheri = my dear  
> Il mio cuore = my heart  
> Allez au diable = damn you  
> Je suis a toi seul = I am yours alone  
> Parla Inglese = speak English  
> stronzo = asshole  
> Cazzo egoista = selfish fuck  
> Figlio di puttana senza cuore = heartless son of a bitch

"Never say that again," Alastor muttered, breath coming faster with each button Angel had undone. It felt comfortably uncomfortable, a foreign sensation that had his blood singing. Without thinking, Alastor licked his lips and inhaled the scent of Angel's fur, digging his claws into the spider's shoulders hungrily. Hunger was familiar. Hunger he knew. Desperation and starvation. The kind of gnawing need that drove you to the edge of insanity. This wasn't so unlike that. True, he couldn't feel lust. He just wasn't wired to understand that kind of desire. But his own brand of longing was lust enough. To own. To claim. To devour.

To never feel alone again. To never feel empty again.

He could feel Angel shivering under his claws, could hear the panicked preylike gasps and see the terror at the edges of the mafioso's heavily-lined eyes. It only made him more ravenous. In the depths of his soul, the back of his mind, the Wendigo howled, and Alastor felt himself struggle against the desire to let go. "No...not this way."

"What's the matta', suga'?" Angel was scared, sure, but he was also proud that he'd managed to get so far without being eaten. He was worth something, and he was gonna prove it to Alastor if it were the last thing he did. "Y'can talk ta me."

Alastor's ears flattened back and he allowed Angel to pull him closer, until he could feel the spider's heat against his bare chest. "I'm hungry," he whispered, his voice ash. "Angel."

"....what...what exactly does that mean?"

The deer's eyes were fraught when he turned them back to Angel's. "I...."

"Ah. Yeah, I see." Angel bit his lower lip for a moment as if thinking, and then reached down and pulled a knife from his boot. "Well." Without even a pause, he pressed the tip to his neck where it met his shoulder, and with a practiced slice, he opened the skin and parted the fur, ruby droplets staining the white almost instantly. "Betta' not go hungry too long, right?"

Alastor's eyes went black, his irises shrinking to slits of crimson as he hissed, struggling to hold the demon in check. "Angel...why..."

The spider only rolled his eyes and snorted. "Go on. Hurry up. Kitchen closes at 3." He nodded with a smirk at the clock on the wall, which was ticking quickly toward the witching hour. "Ya got five minutes."

"I..."

"Shaddup and do it."

The taste of Angel's blood was sweet in his mouth, driving all else from his mind. He took great swallows, nearly gasping, tears hot again in his eyes. He could hear Angel whimpering under his breath as Alastor's teeth sank into the fur, pierced the skin. He tasted like...like...Alastor moaned and swallowed as Angel ran his hands down the back of his neck. He tasted like a light at the end of Alastor's black tunnel of despairing boredom. He tasted like fucking salvation. He tasted like entertainment.

"It's okay," Angel was whispering. "I got plenty. Go on."

"No, no, no," the deer mumbled thickly against Angel's throat, the word mostly a growl of desire as he fought not to keep gorging himself. But he couldn't pull away. "Angel, you...must stop...before..." He forgot what he was saying, climbing into the spider's lap to clamp down harder, humming in pleasure as his eyes closed. "You...are delicious."

"Glad to hear," Angel said with a chuckle. "Though y'know, go easy on the neck, wouldja? I kinda need it. Fuck if I wanna end up like that frigid bitch Katie Killjoy." Angel made a sound like a neck breaking and pulled back, and without even hesitating, kissed Alastor's bloody lips, licking his own coppery tang from the Radio Demon's tongue. He nearly giggled at the low whine that escaped Alastor as he leaned back.

"See? I got it under control."

"Hmn." Alastor was slack-jawed and staring hazily at Angel as if he'd just been struck in the head. "Beautiful..." He reached out and touched Angel's lips, brushing the spider's blood across his face.

Angel flinched. "What?"

"I said," the deer repeated, fighting to form words, "You're beautiful." The grin changed caliber, took on an eerie, almost obsessive quality. "I've never seen anything so stunning, in fact. My piquant little morsel."

"HAH!" Angel scooped Alastor up into all four of his arms and kissed him harder, nipping his lips. "Hardly. What happened to your tastes, huh? I thought I was too sweet for ya."

"I seem to find myself pleasantly mistaken." There was heady want in Al's voice as he dipped his head in again and lapped Angel's blood from his fur. "The taste of you is intoxicating. Absolutely ambrosial." Alastor's voice dropped to a snarled whisper. "Perhaps you are seasoned more toward the predatory than I initially surmised."

"I ain't sure where yer gettin' that from." Angel glanced away, keeping his neck exposed to Alastor's teeth and tongue. He had to admit, it actually felt good. A perilous fact, he knew. Likely it was intentional - something in the stag's demonic aura that encouraged his prey to capitulate. Angel had his own little tricks like that. Most other demons didn't realize he was venomous. It wasn't something you advertised, after all. Better to have the element of surprise if the fight turned lethal. "Why would I needta be deadly? I need my johns alive, ya know. They only pay if they're still warm after I'm through wit 'em."

"Oh, I think you're mistaken, mon cheri." Alastor's licks were rapidly devolving into greedy slurps, his body language sloppy and loose. It was starting to make Angel anxious. "There is nothing more valuable in Hell than ruthlessness."

"And I think you've had enough, il mio cuore."

"Did I ask your opinion?" Alastor breathed, raising his eyebrows as Angel slipped two fingers into his mouth and gently prised Al's fangs from his flesh. He sat back on the spider's lap, licking the last drops of blood from his chin and nose. "Wait...enough what?"

Angel only laughed and gently pushed Alastor off his lap, sliding back down to his barstool. "Liquor...fer now. An' my blood, fer...tonight."

"You're lucky I don't devour you here and now, little whore," Alastor snarled. Ravenous and frustrated, he slid to the edge of the bar and set his feet on the barstool next to Angel's, his face twisted in salacious hunger. It was almost...no, not almost. It was downright lewd, that expression. Angel shivered and thrust his chest out a little, feigning confidence.

"Oh, izzat so, Mista' Ova'lord?" Angel clutched his chest. "Ya wound me! My fragile heart! Whore! I neva'!"

Unexpectedly, the stag seemed to snap back to reality, his thirsty expression fading. "I - no. I didn't intend it to - my apologies, Angel."

"For what?"

"I didn't mean -" The deer's ears flickered and drooped, such an uncharacteristically and unthreateningly childish motion that Angel couldn't contain himself. He burst into peals of laughter as his anxiety melted away again. Boy, getting this close to Alastor was a goddamn roller-coaster ride of terror and lust if he'd ever been on one. The adrenaline was making him downright giggly.

"Sweetheart, I know wha'cha meant. I ain't offended." Very, very slowly, he leaned over the bar until his navel to his chest floof rested on the cool surface. Deliberately and carefully he let the robe slip down his shoulders. "If I'm a whore, do you intend to take advantage of me? Or ya got the goods ta pay?"

Alastor flinched visibly and shuddered so hard the shiver traveled from his toes to his eartips. "Ah...ahem...No."

Angel's grin grew dangerously sharp. "No?" Without asking, he grabbed Alastor by the waist and yanked him across the bar until his hooves spanned Angel's body, leaning his chest in until he could rest his chin on Al's bare chest. He enjoyed watching the deer's responses. So unexpected. Alastor flushed and looked a little bit like he was going to faint. "No? No what?"

"No, I...d-don't intend to —" Static interrupted his voice, and Alastor swallowed hard and glanced away. "You smell sweet," he muttered. "Like orange blossoms and jasmine and cinnamon."

"Porn star," Angel replied easily, licking his lips so close to the deer's skin he could almost taste him, but without actually touching him. "An' yer avoidin' the question. Please. Finish that sentence."

"What in Hell does that have to do with your scent? The last I checked, those horrid...skin-shows...didn't convey the subtlety of perfume. Whyever would it matter." Alastor bent at the waist to lean over Angel's back, his breath hot down the spider's neck. Angel shivered. He could feel the slavering demon in Alastor, could sense its hunger and desire. Usually Angel felt more like predator than prey. He'd been lucky enough to land in hell as something higher on the food chain, even if he'd signed most of his power away in his contract with Valentino. But in Alastor there was something truly wild and vile, the kind of evil that slept in the shadows and was made of teeth and claws. The challenge made Angel's blood nearly boil with lust. Alastor was still dodging any direct mention of sex, but that wasn't all that surprising. The Radio Demon had a reputation for being disturbingly pure when it came to carnal desires. Well, at least, all of them except cannibalistic murder. Then again, Angel thought, a guy's gotta eat.

"It ain't just about how it looks on screen, ya know." He leaned back, folding all four arms across his chest. "Just because ya ain't inta it doesn't mean it's...so...dirty." Angel's eyes gleamed, and he bared his fangs a bit more as he tried to meet Al's energy, resting two hands on the bar on either side of Al's legs and stretching from the stool to the bar in a long, lean line. "My work is fuckin' art, it ain't my fault ya can't see that."

The hungry look in Al's eyes only deepened. He'd never considered Angel in this context, never thought of his behavior as a show. A performance. But that was exactly what the spider was suggesting. And if that were true, who was Angel Dust, really? Under the makeup and the lusty sighs, was there more? Alastor licked his lips, craving the entertainment, the mystery and distraction Angel offered. "Perhaps I'm beginning to see. Do you intend to prove me wrong?"

"Maybe," Angel drawled, dodging Al's claws as the stag reached out and tried to grab him, his giggles airy and heady. They didn't sound like the usual laughter, at least not to Alastor. "Ya askin' fer a lesson?"

The Radio Demon's smirk made Angel shiver happily. That possessive look, that naked want - it wasn't lust, but it didn't matter. Angel knew what longing looked like, and it made his heart pound to see it in Alastor's face. For him. Only for him. "Are you offering to teach me?"

"Tease."

"Wanton harlot."

"Self-important bluenose."

"Gussied up floozy."

"Doggy pill."

"....what?" Alastor wrinkled his nose. "That isn't an insult. It isn't even English."

"Sure it is!" Angel batted his eyes at the deer. "Ain't my fault yer a crazy wheat. Get wit it, granpa."

Alastor chuckled, warm and dark and intimate. "If you're through calling me names, perhaps we could move on to the main event?"

Angel's eyes widened. He figured Al's offer was just good natured teasing, not a serious request. "No way. Ya mean....yer sayin ya actually want me ta -"

"Did I stutter?" Alastor breathed, so close now that Angel's warmth made his skin tingle. "Yes."

Yes. Yes had never, not once, not in a thousand thousand lifetimes been what Angel expected to hear from Alastor. That yes - it rang like a victory peal in his head, set every inch of his flesh on fire. Angel swallowed hard. He'd had no plan for agreement.

"Then why don'cha get down off that bar," he suggested carefully, trying to look nonchalant and brushing his hair out of his eyes. Alastor. The Radio Demon himself. Yeah, he'd told Vaggie he didn't care about politics, and that was true, in a sense. Mostly he'd wanted to keep that frigid bitch out of his personal business. Of course he knew what was going on - he'd be a fool not to. Wasn't he Valentino's star? The pinnacle of the Lust Overlord's kingdom in Pentagram City? Alastor was dangerous at best, and downright deadly at worst. Alastor, the Radio Demon. The Sinner King. The Devourer. The Executioner.

"Ya sure, suga'?" he asked softly, reaching out to stroke the stag's antlers as Alastor slid off the bar, swaying a little and gripping the bartop to steady himself. He was surprised to see Al shudder and lean into his touch.

"Hmn." Perhaps, Al thought, he'd be less sure if his body weren't warmed by drink and Angel's delicious blood. He licked his lips again, biting back the desire to slice the spider's flesh and breathe in the fragrance of his life as it faded. No. Breaking his toys wouldn't do. After all, he needed to thoroughly explore this one. Why burn the book before it was read? Alastor tried not to let the heady chuckle escape him, but it came anyway. He smiled fiercely and wrapped his arms around Angel's shoulders, spinning them once in a slow circle. The blissful relief of curiosity tangled with electric need nearly made him weak in the knees. He hadn't found something so entertaining in decades. "I do believe I am."

"Al." Angel had to actually work to keep the Radio Demon from falling. His balance was shot, and the way he had thrown himself into Angel's arms was....the spider swallowed hard, trying not to go too quickly. Slowly, very slowly, Angel ran his hands up Alastor's hips, under the coat, until he reached the open shirt and paused. "Is that a real yes?"

Alastor let his head loll back, nodding. The world dipped and spun, swinging away until he smiled. "What more did you want? Were you expecting me to beg?" There was black humor in his voice, but Angel still felt a tingle of icy fear along his spine. He bit back a pant of pleasure and wiggled his deft fingers down along Alastor's hips, testing and probing and asking questions the deer demon would have preferred not to answer, had he any say in the matter.

"Maybe I was," Angel murmured, pulling Alastor close to his body with all six arms, breathing in the scent of pine and smoked meat and cold winter nights that clung to the stag's skin. He sighed, and shook his head with a gentle smile. "Nah. I'd neva'. I jes' wanna know ya...actually wanna do this."

"Allez au diable," he whispered, his eyes fluttering closed. "Je suis à toi seul."

Angel groaned. "Parla Inglese, stronzo."

Alastor looked offended. "You know, you could waste the effort to court me just a little," he slurred suspiciously. "After all, I don't just take ANYONE as a lover." The stag snorted. "I said, damn you. Damn you for making me yours."

"HAH!" Angel gestured. "In your current state, I'd wager yer gonna fuck the narrow end of a wine bottle if I don't give ya somethin' betta'." But the translation made his chest warm and his eyes prickle a little. His, huh?

Offended shifted to panicked, and then to disdainful. Alastor jerked away, nearly falling and regaining his balance only through supreme power of will. "I will do no such thing." Anger flashed in his eyes. "This is the thanks I get for letting you live, then, Angel Dust?" His voice was thick with liquor and anger, and something else he didn't like - nervousness. "Insults? Degrading comments?"

Angel flinched, looking chastised, and reached out to try and steady the other demon. "I know ya won't, I was just teasin' ya, I didn't mean -"

CRACK.

The slap was totally unexpected, and delivered with such force that both demons staggered back. Alastor tripped, tried to catch himself on one of the barstools, and took it down with him in a clatter of metal and wood. Angel, less inebriated, kept his balance and took several steps back.

"Fuck!" His ears were ringing with the impact. "What the fuck, Alastor? What, yer just steamin' me up on purpose to see how funny it is? So you can beat the fuck outta me? Is that it?" There were startled, hurt tears in Angel's eyes and he dashed them away furiously. "I ain't yer fuckin' plaything, ya got that? I don't care who ya are. I'm tired'a bein' everybody's fuckin' punchin' bag! I ain't yer little whore, I ain't yer transfusion bag an' I ain't yer toy! Cazzo egoista! Figlio di puttana senza cuore." 

Unexpectedly, Alastor found himself overwhelmed with emotions. Some of them he understood, but others...well. He didn't like that. Things he didn't understand. Feelings he hadn't wanted. No. That just wouldn't do.

"Do not raise your voice to me," he snarled, kicking the barstool away and staggering to his feet to stalk toward Angel. The stalking didn't go as well as he'd hoped, but at least it was mostly a straight line. "What did you expect from me? Sweet nothings and sugary lies? Is that what you wanted?" The bitterness in his voice was sour with fury. "Just another cock to fill your hungry little holes? Another Daddy to buy you pretty trinkets, you miserable parasite? Is that what you expected? What you hoped for? That I would be sweet and kind, mmm? Well." Spinning his microphone into his hand, he jabbed it into Angel's chest. "I suppose I have made a mistake. Of course you wouldn't want what I could offer you. No...no greedy whore would stop with a genuine offer of friendship, of course not!

That won't put food in your belly or drugs in your veins, will it." Alastor's eyes were glowing coals as he stared at Angel, watching the color drain out of the spider's face. Something in him twinged with pain at the look on Angel's face, and Alastor snarled at his own weakness and shoved it down.

"Who are you to demand anything of me?" he hissed. "We. Are not. The same." With the last snapped sentence, Alastor turned away and stomped back toward the bar, headed for the stairs.

"No, we ain't!" Angel's voice came out rougher than he'd planned it. "I don't fuckin' play with my food, do I? I don't eat hearts for the fuckin' giggles, Smiles!" Without thinking, he grabbed the absinthe bottle off the bar and flung at Alastor, hard. As hard as he could. The throw was terrible, and even though the deer was obviously far from sober, he managed to dodge it. The bottle shattered on the far wall.

"Impressive," Alastor snapped mockingly. "All strength and no finesse."

Angel's fangs were bared now, his nose wrinkled into a dangerous grimace and his mandibles exposed. "You're such a shit, ya know that?" He picked up the glass and stormed toward the Radio Demon, flinging it with equal force to the last. This one nearly struck the deer's face, and Alastor snatched it out of the air with the sharp crack of a black tentacle. "That's all ya think of me, huh? Innit? That's all ya wanted. A stupid little doe to hang on yer fuckin' every word and wrap around yer fuckin' pinky, until ya got tired'a me like ya do everythin' else and fuckin' threw me away. You're no differen' than Valentino, Alastor. Yer both jes' self-centered fuckboys, ya know that?" Suddenly, the appendage squeezed, crushing the glass to dust, before it shot out and wrapped around Angel's neck, lifting him from the floor.

"Ah, yes, Valentino." The stag snorted in disdain. "That miserable, walking pile of excrement who calls himself an Overlord, flocked to by the flies and scavengers. No different, am I? Well then. Perhaps I should do with you what he would, then?" Alastor staggered over to Angel where he dangled, coughing, from the tentacle's grip. "Choke you to death. Drink you dry. Make you beg for my ineffable mercy while you wet yourself in fear. Or lust. Or perhaps both. That is what....warms the cockles of your miserable black heart, isn't it, Angel Dust? Being used?" Immediately the tentacle released the struggling spider, and Alastor pushed Angel onto his back with the heel of his boot from the kneeling position where the spider had fallen. "Well, I don't want, or need, your filthy bordello tricks. If that's all you're going to offer, then I suppose you can stay on the floor where you belong. With the rest of the refuse."

"Jesus, fuck, Alastor." Angel stood up and dusted off his jacket, grabbing the hand that held the Radio Demon's microphone. The stag's insults burned in his chest, cutting too deep and too close to the truth. So he threw up the only defense he knew - sarcasm and self-important bluffing. "Learn ta take a joke! I didn't mean nothin' by it. Stop bein' such a self-centered dick for a minute an' -"

Angel's voice died as Alastor's mouth hit his in an angry, frustrated, passionate kiss. There was so much raw power in it the spider simply blinked and softened, letting the other demon grip him harshly, feeling the tips of Alastor's claws dig into his back. He hadn't considered it like this before. Was Al actually offended? Was he angry at Angel, or...or...

When the Radio Demon broke the kiss, Angel wiped his mouth and spat, glaring at him pointedly. "The. Fuck. Alastor." He grabbed the stag's lapels and nearly shook him, but Alastor only yanked him closer and kissed him again. Angel felt his thoughts get murky, and without his permission his anger burned away without a trace. In its place was confusion and a dull, aching pain that leaked from his eyes in cold tears. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"A truly penitent statement." Despite his sharp tone, Alastor's smile was less fierce. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and removed his monocle to clumsily clean the glass on his unbuttoned shirt. Setting the glass back on his face, he pulled his shirttails from his trousers and shed his tailcoat, leaving it on the bartop. He went on ignoring Angel as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, tucking them into his sleeve garters so his forearms remained exposed. He did not remove his gloves, but cracked his knuckles in a manner Angel found surprisingly...threatening.

"Really?" The spider's eyebrows twitched up, and he shook his head, sniffling and dashing tears away on the backs of his bare hands. "Ya ain't gonna believe me no matta' what I say, but yeah, I'm fuckin' sorry." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly with one hand, gesturing with both his lefts. "I shouldn'a said it. I wasn't thinkin'. I'm usedta people callin' me names n'shit, but I should know betta', I guess. It ain't like I like it, so why would you?" Angel paused, and bit his lip a little. "Besides, it ain't fittin', is it? What wit yer...gentlemanly persona." The spider's head drooped. "Yer right. I...I am a parasite. A stupid fuckin' slut. An'....an' I do like bein' used." Angel's throat was so tight he nearly choked on the words. Shame turned his face and chest bright red.

Alastor blinked. He hadn't been expecting that. Honestly, he'd been prepared for a sore-loser's approach with a pout and a bratty come-on. Instead, Angel had been...almost truthful. Almost regretful. And worst of all, terribly sad. Darkly broken.

"That's enough of that," he said finally, reaching out and lifting Angel's chin with a few fingers. Unsurprisingly, the spider slapped his hand away and glared at him through the veil of tears. "I said enough, Angel Dust." He touched the other demon's face again, and this time Angel didn't flinch away. He let Alastor's claws brush the tears from his fur and eyelashes, let him stroke his face and forehead. The tears didn't stop coming, but they weren't as cold.

"Fuck, Al." Angel shook his head. "I don't even know what ta do. I dunno how to please somebody like you. Just go ta fuckin' sleep. I'll see ya in the morning." Pulling his head away from Alastor's touch, he slipped out of the stag's grip and padded softly toward the stairs. He'd almost made it to the first step when he was stopped abruptly by Alastor's shadow, blocking his path.

"No."

Angel frowned. "No? What the hell do you want from me, Alastor?"

"Honestly?" The Radio Demon's smile vanished, and his words came without static. "I don't know what I want, Angel." There was a long pause. "No. No, that isn't quite true. I want to put a stop to the pain I've clearly caused you. That...to say it was not my intent would be...untruthful. But I did not wish to cut you so deeply. I owe you an apology." He glanced at Angel sidelong, taking in the spider's raised eyebrows and long-suffering expression. "Don't look at me like that. I mean it. I am sorry, Angel. You are hardly worthless. And you are certainly not a parasite. Such creatures don't live long down here. Hell is a place in which only the strong survive."

Angel sighed, shaking his head slowly, and rubbed his temples with one of his hands. "Look." He reached out and set a hand on Al's chest, and when the other demon didn't flinch away, he continued speaking. "If ya wanna come up ta my room, I'm open ta teachin' ya. Or...whateva'. But there's a condition."

"Oh?" Alastor's ears perked. He liked deals.

"I, Angel Dust, promise I'll teach ya, Alastor, whateva' ya want about me an' fuckin' an' my work, IF -" Angel held up a finger pointing it at Al's nose. "Ya promise not ta hit me, or fuckin' eat me, or othawise treat me like crap. No more lashin' out 'cause ya think I said somethin' offensive. Jes' TELL me if I make a mistake. I ain't doin' it on purpose, an' I ain't gonna do it again. But don't hurt me. Not anymore. I don't hurt you an' you don't hurt me. Deal?"

"Deal," Alastor whispered, and in a whorl of black, the lobby was empty.


	4. Things go Bump in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor discovers that Angel isn't all he seems, and Angel uncovers some uncomfortable truths about the Radio Demon. Flirting becomes more, but as it turns out, neither Alastor nor Angel are at ease with intimacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoy the concept of sex-favorable and drug-curious Alastor. Angel is not so comfortable with any of this.

The sudden darkness of Angel's room was unexpected, and had Alastor's head spinning. It was cool, one of the windows cracked open, and smelled faintly of peaches and lavender. It was a lovely, summery smell that wove in close with the chilly air and the scent of Hell's smoky landscape that wafted in from outside. The Radio Demon winced, and for a second his hand twitched in the instinct to grab Angel's taller form for support, but he managed to control himself. Which was good, because Angel wasn't next to him anymore.

Angel was fussing around on the floor, contorting his surprisingly slender figure into absolutely comic poses as he attempted to reduce the room from its XXX status to something a little more PG-13. In spite of himself, Alastor sighed as he watched the arachnid, a bit entranced by the beauty of movement. Angel wasn't very functional, that was for certain - he was often clumsy at simple tasks and every movement he made was littered with the superfluous. But despite all that, Angel's movement was...well, lovely to watch. Even stooping to scoop a pile of discarded clothes from the floor was a dance with him. His fur caught the light, creating rainbows of refracted light, and in the darkness, his markings fluoresced. He glowed nearly from within, casting strange shadows in the room, creating a rainbow ribbon of light in his wake. Alastor blinked and shook his head hard, glancing away. Surely that response was purely physiological. After all, he'd been drinking heavily and moved quickly from a lighted lobby to a dark bedroom. There was no chance he'd consider Angel Dust, Hell's most pernicious neighborhood bicycle, as beautiful. Beauty required...pristine balance. A dance between the vulgar and the pure. In Alastor's world, that balance relied on his innate righteous anger and impeccable skills in delivering death. Angel had no such balance. He was...he was slovenly, Alastor told himself firmly. Gluttonous. Greedy. A creature of base desires and carnal responses, driven endlessly only by his own id and doomed to hell as a result.

No. He and I are nothing alike.

Finally Angel seemed satisfied that he'd reigned in enough of the chaos to stop his frenetic tidying. He took a deep breath and stared at the room for a second, trying to find any sign of anything that might upset Alastor. After all, he had a one in a million chance here, and he got the definite impression that Alastor was going to judge his performance to determine whether he survived to tell about it. When he turned back, he caught the stag staring at him with a strange look in his glowing eyes. Angel shuddered again with desire at the dark shadow in his doorway. In the black, Alastor's eyes glowed hot-iron red and the glow pulsed like a heartbeat. It was unsettling and arousing, he decided, swallowing his nervousness.

"Sorry about that, suga'," he said softly, his demeanor instantly shifted from anything Alastor had seen from him before. He moved with a gentle sway, like ocean waves or wind in tall grass. It was more than a wiggle and less than a sashay, a sort of semi-formed ballet that left the mind wanting. Hypnotic, Alastor thought. He was intensely curious about Angel's abilities. In particular, he wanted to know what in the world had driven the spider - who, from all appearances, was a large, strong, and clever demon with connections and a knack for drumming up followers - to contract with a bottom-feeder the likes of Valentino.

"No apologies are necessary, mon ami." As Angel approached, he reached behind himself to grip the doorframe with his hidden hand, refusing to show any appearance of inebriation to his unexpected after-dinner company.

"Hmn." Angel stepped inside the area demarcated by Alastor's five-foot-rule, slowly and confidently reaching out to rest his forearms on the stag's shoulders. His eyes never faltered. He just stared into Alastor's face, an open question followed by a long, uncomfortable silence. Alastor nearly squirmed under his touch, which Angel found amusing to no end. But more than that, the longer he stared, the lower the deer's ears drooped, until finally Alastor glanced down and to the left and his ears pinned back to his head and neck. Little shocks of desire arched through Angel. Now, that was surprising. Maybe mister Radio Demon wasn't so sex-repulsed after all. Maybe he'd just never had anyone who could meet him where he was.

"You are one tough customer," Angel murmured, reaching up to stroke Al's ears. To his delight, they were soft and supple, and Alastor gave a little gasping breath when Angel began to rub them gently. "No wonda' nobody eva' got ya in bed. Nobody'd think that mistah big Radio Demon Alastor might want someone ta get a little rough wit 'im." Angel reached out and grasped Alastor's chin, silently praying he wasn't wrong about this. If he was wrong, he was also dead. Double dead. Whatever.

"Alastor?" He put slight pressure on the stag's jawbone and Alastor willingly turned his head to stare at Angel. "You alright?"

"Is there a reason I would not be?" His voice was soft, muffled, and faraway. The look in his eyes was vaguely dreamy, unfocused, and he smiled at Angel in a way that both set the spider's heart fluttering and made his blood cold. Who the hell was this, and what had they done with Alastor?

"Why doncha come lie down wit me?" Angel carefully, carefully pulled Al's hand into his own and attempted to guide him to the bed. He noted in surprised disbelief that the stag was shaking. Not a heavy shiver, or a tremble of fear, but a slight unsure quiver between nerves and excitement. As they climbed into the bed, Alastor moved stiffly and mindlessly, puppeted along by Angel's self-assured movements. He sat on the bed when prompted, feeling strangely out-of-body. Still warm with alcohol, and surprisingly calm given the spider's proximity, he blinked at Angel in surprise.

"I expected your bed to be..." He ran his hand over the luxuriously soft cotton, into the piles of soft pillows and several immense fluffy comforters.

Angel barked out a laugh. "What, red satin sheets an' sex toys?"

Alastor nodded, blushing fiercely. "I do apologize for the assumption, I -"

Angel only waved a hand as his giggles trailed off. "Sweetheart, that's what I WANT people ta think. I ain't offended." Before he joined Alastor in the bed, Angel expertly removed his boots and tucked them safely into the closet, flicking a light switch inside that filled the room with a kaleidoscope of colors from tiny wired lights.

Alastor blinked. "Christmas."

"Tada."

The stag glanced back over toward Angel to be met with the rather shocking sight of the spider stripping out of his clothes. His thumbs had just hooked into the shiny fabric of his panties to pull them down his slim hips when Alastor yelped.

"STOP!"

Angel jerked his hands away from his hips as if his underwear had bitten him. "What?!" For a second he'd glanced around in confusion, looking for what must have been a threat, Alastor had shouted so loud. But there was nothing. What...the....

"I...ahem." Alastor cleared his throat, swallowing the squeak of discomfort. "I would prefer if you remained decent, my dear."

Angel groaned. "You gotta loosen up." He scooped a long, loose t-shirt from the floor and shrugged it over his head. "Betta'?"

Alastor nodded.

"I think I can do sommin' about t'nerves, if ya want," Angel mumbled, digging through a dresser drawer, his back to the wide-eyed Radio Demon.

"By 'something', Angel, do you mean illicit substances?"

"Drugs, yea. I mean drugs." He half-turned back to Alastor, his top arms folded across his chest as his lower ones continued to rifle through the drawer. "Prollem?"

"Well, I lack a certain...maturity, in the area," Alastor said slowly. "Perhaps not an aversion, but I am at best inexperienced in such matters."

"Ya drink."

"Hardly the same thing."

"Actually, pretty much exactly the same thing." Angel lifted a bottle of pills and shook it gently side-to-side. "Anyway, why not try? I thought you were bored. An' ya been bored. Why not? It's better'n insanity and endin' up in the Pit."

The stag considered these words for a long moment. The Pit was one of the few things left in creation that frightened him. It was a vast unknown, full of monsters who spent their time doing nothing but devouring. The Wendigo in him howled to run full speed off the edge of the Pit, to plunge into the fray and kill and eat and become what Alastor most feared - a mindless animal. He didn't want that to happen. He'd do anything to prevent it.

"All right. I'm in."

Angel's grin was so sharp and hungry that Alastor almost regretted his acquiescence. "Stick out your tongue." The stag obliged, and Angel placed a pill on his tongue. "Swallow." Alastor did as he was told. Angel grinned more broadly. "So, ya do like bein' told what ta do, huh?"

Alastor half grinned, half flinched, and Angel pulled back a little. "Ya don't have ta answer that."

"Oh, but I do, mon ange, do I not?" Mischief made Al's eyes gleam. "Yes, perhaps I do. If it's you doing the telling."

This time it was Angel's turn to blush. "Wha- m-me? Nah. You'd'a figured it out eventually, wit or wit'out me."

And then Alastor was kissing him. What...wha...oh...oh, kisses. Angel dissolved into Alastor's arms, a soft groan of need on his lips. Fuck. Why was this so hot? It was just a kiss. He'd kissed millions of guys before. But this...Alastor smelled good, felt good, looked good. The hunger rose in him, twisting tight around his soul. "...fuck yeah," he whispered.

The stag sank back to the pillows, pulling Angel with him. Hazily, Angel reached out to lightly stroke Alastor's cheek. His hand drifted into the deer's hair, up along the outsides of his ears.

"They're soft," Angel whispered.

Alastor nodded, stretching his slim body out over the sheets. It felt surreal, laying in Angel's bed. The dark helped keep it from being too...too concrete. But even so....

"Do ya feel good when I touch 'em?" Angel continued to stroke Al's ears, watching his responses carefully. What began as a vibration, barely noticeable, had graduated to a quiver. Now and then he'd let out a rather unrefined moan and push his head up against Angel's touch, trembling.

"I..." Breathy pants interrupted Al's sentences. This just wouldn't do. It was like drowning in...in...cotton candy. It was so hard to think, even harder to speak. His body was lit up with adrenaline and desire. "Yes?"

The spider's body went taut, and then he took a deep breath. Hold it together, Angel. Be gentle. But in the back of his mind, lust warred for control, and it was all Angel could do to keep it from taking over and...he cringed to think what it would do. Probably rape the deer, at best. Maybe something worse. Closing his eyes and pushing the damn presence back into the recesses of his mind, Angel ran his hands down Alastor's ears, over his neck, and down his chest. The deer writhed and squeezed his eyes shut. He bucked and shifted, almost pulling away, and then stopped. Angel stilled his own hands. He went back to gently petting the deer's head, threading his fingers through Alastor's soft hair.

"This is..."

"Fuckin' weird?" Angel's grin made Al's chest tighten. Weird was not even close to half of it. The deer demon flinched and pulled away from Angel's gentle touches. If he didn't focus, and let himself drift, it wasn't so bad. But the minute he became intensely aware of what was going on, his prey instinct kicked in, followed closely by a lifetime's worth of solitude screaming that even the fingers stroking his hair were deadly. His heartbeat quickened, and not in good way.

Angel's lips were on his waist, then lower. Gentle pressure against his groin as Angel undid both buttons at his waist with an insanely strong tongue, the fabric of his loose shirt dangling against Al's stomach and brushing lightly over his naked skin. Alastor inhaled sharply and tried to hold his tongue, but a low whine squealed just under his radio static.

"Doin' okay there?" Angel, with his sweet soothing voice, pulled Alastor into his lap until he rested against Angel's chest, his cheek in the spider's soft fur. Alastor didn't protest, but shuddered as his discomfort overpowered the alcohol and his mind began processing where he was and what he was doing. The deer's body went stiff against Angel's, his breath coming in short, panicked rasps.

This was a response Angel knew all too well. His brows knit and he eased his grip on Alastor, using one of his free hands to comb through the red-and-black hair methodically. The motion was tender and cautious, without pretense or demand. "It's a'ight, suga'," he whispered into the dark. "Shh. Yer good."

It didn't feel all right. Fear, heart-stopping, mind-numbing fear, gripped the Radio Demon so tightly he could hardly breathe. Fear of death, fear of pain, fear of....he didn't quite know what, honestly. And it didn't much matter. The fear was all-consuming, and its focus so diffuse that Al couldn't make it out through the haze of alcohol anyway. Suddenly all he wanted was to be out of Angel's embrace, far away from this situation, holed up safely in some thicket or closet or behind a very tall, very sturdy wall. He pushed himself out of Angel's grasp, his skin beading with cold sweat, and choked out, "Five foot rule."

Angel wrinkled his nose, surprised, but didn't push his unexpected bedmate. "Yeah, yeah." Disentangling himself as unthreateningly as possible from the deer demon, Angel padded across the room and turned to stare at Alastor from a beanbag chair on the floor. He was fully clothed, technically speaking, but to Alastor's eyes he may as well have been stark naked. His eyes slowly traveled the length of him, drinking in the pale fur and the long, lean curves of his limbs and torso. The long silk sleepshirt clung to him deliciously, Alastor thought. But not as deliciously as the black lace panties that rested low on his hips, barely visible under the hem when Angel crossed his legs. His hunger warred with his terror.

"Mon dieu, tu es magnifique," he mumbled, the words thick and honeyed. "Honestly, a beauty like yours is wasted in pornography." His lip curled. "Wasted on an idiot like Valentino."

Angel's eyes widened, but he didn't interrupt. This was interesting. Alastor was always so composed, so cautious and reserved about his feelings and thoughts. It gave the air of someone plotting, keeping malicious secrets. So to hear the sour tone when the Radio Demon spat Val's name was...oddly comforting. Even more interesting was the tremor in that voice. Alastor was afraid. But...of what?

"Big V ain't so bad," Angel murmured, deliberately swinging his hips as he stood up again and sauntered a little closer to the bed. "An' I like pornography." He grinned and leaned down, using his arms to push his chest fluff into a rounded bust as he kissed Alastor's nose. "But ya know, I think I like you betta'."

The touch sent a shock of panic through the deer demon, and he jerked back. "Don't." His eyes flicked left, right, left, right, scanning and scanning and checking and scanning. Looking for danger that wasn't coming. "Don't."

"Al." The spider sat down carefully at the end of the bed, folding all four hands in his lap chastely. "I'm not gonna hurt ya. Why so skittish?"

"Dunno," the Radio Demon mumbled, squinting and furrowing his brow. "Just...not safe." He shook his head and clumsily rubbed the back of his neck with his claws. "I...I don't..."

Angel leaned close, moving deliberately to allow the deer demon to predict his movements. "I ain't gonna hurt ya," he repeated. "Yer okay. It's just the e talkin', rememba'? The pill ya took? I ain't gonna do nothin' ya don't want me ta do." Angel paused, and then slid to the floor, kneeling next to the bed with all his hands resting on his thighs and hips, far from Alastor. "Now I ain't got any preferences, shug, but I needja t'tell me what ya want. You want me to keep goin'?"

Al swallowed hard, but no matter how many times he gulped, the knot in his throat remained. He was quiet for a long time, considering that question. Did he? Did he want to be touched? Did he want to allow Angel to drag him down into this...this debauchery? And if not, why not? What did he have to lose? What could go wrong?

"I...I do." Honesty won out, and Al could feel the surprise of his shadow-puppets as he spoke, their disbelief. "I'm...not used to allowing others so close on any terms but my own. It would appear I'm....a bit anxious."

"Huh. Go fuckin' figure." Angel blinked in surprise. "I didn't think anythin' scared ya."

"ANYTHING does not. That's precisely the problem."

"Uh...what?" The spider's mouth twisted in an awkward expression of disbelief. "Y'ain't makin' any sense, babe."

Alastor groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Try to focus, you cum-addled hussy," he snapped. "The problem is not that I am afraid of something. The problem is that I am afraid. Of nothing. For no reason. That kind of fear, the kind that comes from...." he gestured at his ears and antlers, "...is harder to will away."

Angel's eyes narrowed, and then his eyebrows popped up as the lightbulb went on in his head. "Aaah. I get it. Like a panic attack." He leaned in, grabbing Alastor's wrists and wrapping his free arms around the deer's waist, pulling him close. "Well, I gotta sure-fire cure for panic attacks," the spider whispered, lips nearly touching his.

Alastor's eyes rolled back in his head a little as it dropped back on his shoulders, exposing his long slim neck. His ears went limp, dangling in puppyish fashion along the sides of his face as he struggled to straighten. "I..."

Angel only grinned and leaned down, kissing the words out of Al's mouth. They dissolved into a willing moan. "You? You what."

"What's your....cure...." Al half-panted as Angel continued to kiss him, over his forehead and cheekbones, down his throat, and then back to his mouth. The heat, the buzz of the touch in his skin, drove all the other thoughts out. The panic began to fade. "...oh..."

"I never really noticed how small you are," the spider whispered as he pulled away from the last kiss, nuzzling Al's cheek and neck. "Almost delicate."

"Hah!" There was a flicker of fire in Al's hazy eyes at that. "I've murdered men for saying less."

Angel rolled his eyes and smirked. "You've murdered men 'cuz you wanted a midnight snack. You ain't spookin' me, Bambi. You may want me in your mouth, but I ain't gonna let ya swallow. At least...not nothin' I can't give ya more of."

"You do know how to get a man's attention, Angel." Al's eyes were half-open as he watched Angel kneeling at the foot of the bed. What a statement that was. Alastor wasn't entirely clear if the spider was referring to his blood, his flesh...or....or something else entirely, which made Alastor extremely uncomfortable to consider for any lengthy period of time. Without asking permission this time, Angel slid all four of his hands up Alastor's hips, over his waist, under the shirt and up his bare chest. Immediately his breath quickened, eyes going glassy, and his spine arched into the touch. Maybe he should just stop...trying to consider what Angel meant.

"I'm gonna take this off," Angel murmured. "You tell me to stop if you wanna, okay?"

Al only nodded, licking his lips and squeezing his eyes shut as his breath came faster. Angel's hands, which had felt so hot minutes ago, were now chilly on his fevered skin. His tail fluttered again and he whimpered. His clothes were too warm and too heavy, and he wanted them gone. As Angel's soft touch stripped them away, he moaned in relief. "Please. S'too hot."

"What is?" Angel's fingers brushed Al's shoulders, pushing the suspenders off and down his arms to the elbow.

The buck's face went almost purple and his eyes opened slowly. "...me," he mumbled. "I...take these fucking things off." A shock of motion threaded through him and he fumbled eagerly with the rest of the buttons on his shirt, but his hands were heavy. "Ah, fuck me, I'm useless like this." His eyes opened and he stared into Angel's face, grinning. "I'm drunk."

Angel laughed from the belly, a clear bright sound. "I know, sweet'eart. Bit more'n drunk, now. Better'n a panic attack, though." His grin widened as Alastor shivered at the term of endearment. "I think it's kinda sexy."

Al swallowed hard and blushed, glancing away. "Hardly."

"It is." Angel reached out and gripped his face, tilting his chin up and kissing him again. "And for tonight, it's all mine." His hands slid down Al's chest, probing the scars, the muscles, his ribs. The look on the Overlord's face was to die for. This was power Angel could get used to. Alastor was blinking in slow motion, ears drooping, a small smile on his lips as he chewed them nervously. Angel leaned close, kissing down his neck, over his collarbones, down his chest. His skin was warm, velvety soft, and covered with a tiny down of fur that was almost invisible if you didn't look closely. He could feel the slight tremor in the stag's muscles. "They don't call it ecstasy fer nothin'."

"A...Angel. Fuck." Words were getting harder, and so was thinking. Somehow that was okay. Angel was right - it was better than panic. A giddy relief took over and Al half-laughed, half-groaned as Angel's lips made icy trails down his body. "Goddamnit, get these off." He tugged at the shirtsleeves, limbs too heavy and moving with a mind of their own. Instead of pulling the shirt off, he managed to get himself helplessly tangled and offered an impotent growl before dissolving into tipsy giggles. This should not feel good. This should feel scary and annoying. So why did he want nothing more than to bury himself in Angel's fur, press into his gentle touches?

"Okay, you're fuckin' adorable," Angel murmured. "But tragic. Hold the fuck still and I'll get you outta this mess." Tenderly he folded the shirt down Al's back and slid it off each wrist. Then, without a warning, he wrapped two arms around the deer's back and scooped him up against his body, using the two free hands to remove the trousers as well. Alastor shivered and shook his head.

"I should be angry with you for that," he mumbled.

"Kinda hard to be angry when yer high," Angel pointed out. "I mean, if ya got the good stuff."

"Are you implying that there is 'bad stuff'?" Alastor turned blown-wide pupils on Angel's glowing eyes, letting the spider use all his limbs to cage Al's body against his own. Every inch of flesh that Angel's fur touched felt like diving into a cold pond on a hot day. Alastor began to shiver, and found quickly he couldn't stop.

"Trust me, hun," Angel purred. "There's lotsa bad stuff. My face an' my ass are fuckin' hot commodities. I don't needta go fuckin' 'em up with crack an' meth an'...all those crazy fuckin' Russian designer drugs. Those people have a hate on for life."

"Designer...drugs?"

"Man, you really are a fuckin' virgin. How the hell'd somebody like you end up as an all-powerful fuckin' Ova'lord?"

"Talent, my dear boy."


	5. Death to Tyrants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel should be thrilled that Alastor is letting him get so close. Letting him touch. But trauma and pain have a way of interrupting everything good. Alastor discovers he very much does NOT like seeing Angel suffer, in spite of himself. Angel is astonished to discover that Al isn't as tough as he seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pauvre ti bete = poor thing (the implication of this phrase is more pity - the direct translation is closer to 'poor idiot' or 'poor stupid')  
> Ca va = it's okay  
> Fonchock = roughly translated, it means stupid fool - but in Cajun French the term is implied to be really rude, so it's closer to saying fucking dumbass  
> Boo doo = bully  
> mon couer = my heart  
> yon ti kras = my little one  
> ma dous araignee = my sweet spider

Angel stood up abruptly, bringing Alastor with him, so that he had to throw his arms around the spider's neck to avoid falling backward. He almost missed, and there was a moment of anxiety before Angel's hands braced his shoulders.

"Ah, careful there, suga'." The soft fur of the spider's chest brushed his nose, and his ears twitched a little.

"M'fine."

"Hah!" Angel snorted. "Not so much." He used his two free hands to crawl into his bed, still holding Al's warm, relaxed form cradled to his chest in his remaining four arms. As he released the deer into a pile of soft pillows, Alastor mewled in pleasure.

"Ah. Cold." Instinctively he'd curled closer to Angel's warmth, hooking his unshod hooves around the spider's torso.

"It's more that you're hot," Angel murmured, sprawling out next to him to kiss his forehead and run his fingers down Al's chest. "Really hot, actually." His palms spread out over Al's taut stomach, and then his thumbs rubbed lightly over his hipbones. His hand against the small of Al's back discovered the soft tail, and Angel's eyebrows shot up. "You got a tail?"

Alastor winced and blushed, but Angel didn't stop. He ran his fingers down the other demon's spine and fondled the tail before dusting over the round of Al's rump and between his legs. Without thinking, the deer shifted his hips and released Angel, stretching his legs wide and pressing back into the cool bedsheets. It put him at a disadvantage, of course. All of his body was too heavy to move quickly or gracefully, and now he was on his back, knees wide, practically begging to be...to be...well. And it wasn't a movement lost on Angel, either. The spider's long, limber form curled over Alastor, his fur brushing Al's skin, his breath hot on his naked chest, and his hands probing, stroking, quietly exploring the length, shape, and heat of his partner's genitalia with skilled fingers.

Every touch was a lightening strike in Al's head. He didn't like being touched. Not usually. In fact, he couldn't think of a single instance outside a rut that he had allowed anyone to undress him. And yet this situation felt bizarrely natural, his breathing even and calm, his throat producing tiny pants of pleasure that didn't make him feel humiliated. Angel's gaze on him was soft and kind and wanting, and every time he managed to catch the spider's glance, he melted a little further. He didn't want to think hard about it, and Angel complied. They didn't speak. It wasn't needed, and the silence only made Alastor's body hungrier.

"Please," he said finally, his voice oddly loud. Angel stopped kissing his ribs long enough to raise his eyebrows.

"Please?"

Alastor swallowed hard and writhed in discomfort, but spoke anyway. "Yes. Please. I can't stand it any more."

Angel's soft purr of desire was followed by a smile. "You wanted...this?" The spider played his fingers over Alastor's skin, touching his throat, his nipples, his thighs. The deer twitched and squirmed closer, making small sounds of curious enjoyment.

It wasn't at all what he'd expected, and in spite of his exclamation, Angel felt strangely shaky. He was waiting for this soft, wiggly Alastor to disappear and be replaced with The Radio Demon and a fiendish punishment for his disrespect. For a second, a flash of Val's angry smile flickered in his mind, and as he leaned forward and took Al in his mouth, panic flooded him and he flinched, nearly nipping the deer's firm length. He didn't, of course. He wasn't that drunk. But the idea...the thought of accidentally...of unintentionally putting fangs to...to Alastor's....

He gasped at the thought of it and his mind switched tracks into well-trained panic. He muttered apologies, carefully wrapping his tongue over the head and skillfully stroking. Between the apologies came terrified gasps and here and there, hot tears of fear. His entire body shivered in the anticipation of pain.

Alastor felt the tension in the air, but his head was too fuzzy to really comprehend it. When tears pattered on his hips he furrowed his brow. "Angel? Are you crying?" He tried to sit up, but Angel only redoubled his efforts, and Al felt his thoughts scatter. "Fuck...." The word slipped past his lips and he regretted it immediately. "Angel...."

"S'okay, Mista' Valentino," Angel whispered, for a moment umoored in space and time. Just don't hit me. Please don't hit me. I didn't actually do it. I didn't. I stopped myself. It was just a mistake. I'd never disrespect....I'd never think to....please just don't hurt me. "Ya don't have to talk ta me. I know ya don't like to talk to the help. I'mma do betta'.I'll show ya. I'mma give ya all I got."

"Angel." This time, Alastor's voice riffed harshly with static. "Angel Dust."

"I'm sorry, Mista' Valentino. I'll do betta', Mista' Valentino." Out of nowhere, six hands were on Alastor, scooping the round of his ass, stroking his waist and chest, running through his hair. Angel bore down on him, his mouth moving so adroitly that if he hadn't heard the sniffling, Alastor would have thought he was eager.

"ANGEL." The voice, in spite of the slur, was steel command. Angel froze and released Alastor, cringing back and dropping to his knees on the floor with his head down. He didn't speak, and he clearly exposed the back of his neck. As he sat up, Alastor's brows furrowed. That position...he didn't like it. Not one bit. Angel looked so...sad, so defeated, like he was waiting for Alastor to bite down on his neck and shake him.

"Angel. My Angel." He slid off the end of the bed drunkenly, nearly knocking heads with the trembling spider. Tenderly, he reached down and scooped the weeping face into his hands. "Angel Dust. My pauvre ti bete. Ca va." Gently, gently, he wiped the tears from Angel's eyes. The spider seemed a thousand miles away for a moment, and then seemed to rouse a little. His eyes grew wide and shiny and the fear melted into confusion and an emotion Alastor couldn't identify.

"I...I'm....I-I'm s-sorry, Mista' A-alastor," Angel muttered, wincing each time Alastor stroked his face. "P-please don't....e-eat me, I p-promise I'mma make it up to ya, I -"

Alastor's brows knit hard. "Eat you? Why in the name of Lucifer would I eat you, cher?"

"I f-failed...I-I almost...b-bit ya an'...I'm...s'posed ta b-be good when I...w-work, M-mista' Valentino t-taught me r-right, I swea', I'mma do m-my b-best for ya, Mista Alast -"

Alastor stopped Angel's babbling with a kiss, and when they separated, Angel could only stare in shock at the sheer hatred written into Alastor's drug muddled features.

"Why that yellow-bellied, sour-faced, selfish, weak-willed son of an orphaned donkey," Alastor muttered, vitriol hot on his lips. "If I ever see dat fonchock set so much as a claw on my territory, I'mma find out how many organs a moth has, me." The Cajun accent crept in the angrier he got, and Angel seemed to grow more focused with every second.

"A...what now?" He sniffled and blinked. He could tell that the words meant something rude, just based on the way Alastor pronounced them. The alienness of the accent and the anger in Alastor's eyes were grounding, in their own disturbing way. Angel watched a little woozily as the tips of Alastor's ears twitched in irritation, the way a horse's might to flick out an offending fly. A tiny smile touched the corner of his lips. When Alastor saw the smile, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"A fonchock, cher. You neva' heard no one call a fonchock?" He stroked Angel's hair back from his face, feeling the warm flush of desire quiver through him again. "Don' you worry your pretty head none now, mon couer. If dat lamp-chasing boo doo ever show his face near you again, I'mma separate it from his skinny little neck. An' dat de troof." He kissed Angel again, deeper this time, tasting the sugar and Absinthe on his lips. Tasting his blood, his fear, his lust. "You wi' me now, yon ti kras. Under my protection."

Angel's body relaxed into the kiss, and he began to shake again - this time with giggles. "Did you just say 'de troof'?" he asked, eyes gleaming. The words felt good on his skin. In his insides. He let his eyes close as he breathed in Al's scent and leaned into his warmth. The fear drained out of him more quickly than it had in the past, and he was pretty darn sure the Radio Demon's potent threat against Valentino was to blame. He should be horrified, but instead he just felt....wanted. Happy.

"I did, cher," Alastor murmured, nuzzling Angel's face until he got close to his ear. "But should you ever repeat it, or so much as breathe a word about this to another damned soul, you will regret it for the rest of your days."

"Your voice," Angel whispered. His words glowed with lust. "Please don't stop talking."

Alastor smiled, and his eyes flared from within with a crackle of static. "Why, Angel, I thought you found me stuffy and outdated!"

Angel shrugged slowly, straightening as he pulled a cigarette out of his breast pocket and lit it. The smell of melting Sharpies filled the air. Angel took a deep drag, pulling reddish blue smoke into his lungs, and exhaled a smoke ring in the shape of a heart. It drifted, swaying, until it fell around Alastor's neck. Angel's shoulders unknotted and began to sink as the punch of PCP rolled over him, wiggling between reality and his mind in a way that made him sigh blissfully.

"That...smells odd," Alastor murmured. "That's not nicotine, is it, Angel?" His voice was mildly accusatory.

The spider only smiled and shrugged.

"How long have you been smoking these in the hotel?"

"Uh...." Angel paused and took another long drag. "March?" The word was muffled by smoke as he exhaled, and Alastor unintentionally inhaled as he sighed in frustration.

"And you...."Alastor's skin already felt odd. Warm. Not warm. Sensitive. Not sensitive. But this new sensation that came with Angel's burning-plastic-scented cigarettes made him crackle inside, thrusting him into a sense of clarity and surprising bravado that puffed his chest a little. Excitement made his hair stand on end. He held ball lightning in his hands, a power that had a mind of its own. He usually couldn't feel his ability so strongly, but the scent of the smoke and the sweet cinnamon-and-orange-blossom of Angel's fur seemed to have woken up all his senses. He admired the power for a few long moments, wiggling his fingers. This ability, a barely leashed apocalypse. A future for all of them, if he could just keep it in check. But that was the tricky part. Hmn. He could see why Angel turned to such drugs.

"Vagatha hasn't found you out?" He heard his voice, but he hadn't been the one to use it. Behind him, his long shadow grinned wickedly. The Radio Demon looked away, guilt crawling in his stomach. He didn't need to know the answer, but knowing would serve him. He couldn't refuse it. The secret meant power over Angel, and Alastor could never say no to more power.

Angel only shrugged, oblivious to the little exchange. "Naw. Not so far. I ain't really worried 'bout it." He nuzzled close to Alastor, exhaling in his face and watching him blink through pink smoke. "Taste nice?"

"Absolutely vile." Alastor could feel Angel's eyes on him, the gentle pulsing of his veins. The shadow was forgotten. "But you...." Alastor blinked languidly, and then shook his head with a scoff. "Dammit. I'm goin' regret this when I'm sober, ey, cher?"

"If I hadta wager? Prolly," Angel whispered. "I guess I hope not? I'm not gonna regret it, anyway. Do ya...ya want me ta stop?" He pulled back, taking another long drag from the cigarette and blowing the smoke smoothly back over his shoulder.

Alastor shook his head slowly. "No. Not at all. No, I rather enjoy this." The deer considered for a long while, touching his antlers in bemusement, glancing at Angel. "I couldn't tell you the specific why of it, though. That...is blurry as a watercolor at the bottom of a pond." He smiled demurely, his ears flickering up and down in uncertain desire. "Do you wish me to do more?"

"Only if ya want to."

"Do you wish me not to?"

"I nevah said that," Angel muttered, curling closer to Alastor's too-warm body. "I jes' don't wanna make ya uncomfortable, Mista Radio Demon." His smile glinted in the darkness with a promise of sin.

"You will do no such thing." Alastor's eyes glowed in the dimness of the room. "You can bring no lasting harm to me, after all. I trust you, and that is all the guarantee I need of that fact."

"In that case," Angel purred, "maybe we should get back in th'bed?" His words and flirtatious glance hid the flicker of concern in his eyes. Alastor trusted him? That sounded like the stupidest thing Angel had ever heard the Radio Demon say. Al should know better. For all he knew, Angel could be honey-potting him for Valentino! He grimaced. Honestly, Angel worried that Val was allowing him to stay at the hotel as a means of getting to the other Overlord. He couldn't prove it, though. Of course not. And if he said anything, he was pretty certain everyone would blow his comments off as the paranoia of a junkie. He shoved the thoughts down, begging his brain to shut up and let him enjoy this. He just wanted to have fun. Alastor was finally giving him all this attention, and all he could do was worry about Val...

"Angel Dust." Angel realized he was staring at the floor, and lifted his eyes to see Al looming over him, naked, holding out his hand with hooded eyes that seemed ablaze. "Come here."

"Yes, Mista' Alastor," he breathed, feeling a little giddy. His worries drained out of his head as he took Al's hand, all his focus back on the elegant Overlord whose approval he craved so much. He wanted the deer to claim him, to shut up the ridiculous running commentary in his fucked-up head, to turn off the constant anxiety and self-loathing with forceful kisses and that commanding baritone.

It was a little tricky to hold on to reality, and sound kept changing, like he was listening to music beneath the surface of an enormous indoor pool. Angel's fur glowed, and it was so soft....Alastor realized after a moment that he'd been petting Angel, who was straddling his lap, as they sat on the bed. He didn't remember getting there. Angel was making soft cries under the stag's touch, and the noises made Alastor's skin prickle with pleasure. For a moment he felt his eyes flare and static filled the room, and he could taste Angel's blood on his teeth, hear his sobs as Alastor tore his flesh, and the high of the kill crept into his mind. The scent of blood. The look in Angel's eyes as he snuffed out his brilliant light....

"Alastor?" Angel's hand on his face brought him back to reality hard, and Alastor blinked, surprised as a tear ran down his face. Was he crying? He touched his eyes and frowned. "Oh, Al..." Angel's brow furrowed and he gently kissed the tear away. "What's wrong?"

Fear warred with rage, and rage with lust, and lust with wild hunger. Fuck. He had to bring himself back under control before something terrible happened. Alastor released Angel and bit down on his own forearm until the coppery tang of his blood filled his mouth. He was breathing hard and shaking, and Angel's shocked expression helped reorient him. "Jesus, Al!" Angel grabbed his arm, using another hand to stop him from biting down again with a palm to his forehead. "Fuck me, I'm sorry..." This was his fault, Angel realized. He knew sometimes people got violent on PCP, but it had never been an issue for him. Of course it was an issue for Al. He was a fucking cannibal, after all. A serial killer. Violence was part of the territory. Should have stuck to the ecstasy, should never have...have... "Fuck me, Al. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." Angel hissed through gritted teeth, self-loathing written plainly in his features. "I'mma fix this."

"A...A-a-angel." Alastor's voice crackled with static. "I don't want to harm you."

"Ya won't. I trust you." Angel smiled sadly. "And that's all the guarantee I need, right?" The spider opened his mouth and revealed a pair of small mandibles just outside his row of sharp teeth, set back in soft pouches in his cheeks. With a strange jerk of his throat, he produced a strand of silk and began to pull it from his mouth with the mandibles. "Hol' still na," he mumbled around the silk. "I'mma fix up y'arm." With practiced fingers, he wrapped the silk over the wound. It was still slightly damp and very warm, and immediately the stinging pain in the limb was gone. It went pleasantly numb.

"I didn't know you could do this!" There was fascination in Alastor's quiet tones. Some of the staticy glow had faded from his eyes, and his breathing seemed to have returned to normal. The shaking was gone, too. That was good. "And it has a numbing agent, as well? Why don't you use this ability?"

"I do," Angel replied, cutting off the thread on his tooth and pressing it into the makeshift bandage on Al's arm until it adhered. "Usually when a client gets too handsy or hurts one'a th'other girls inna scene."

"That is not what I meant. You are much stronger than you let on, Angel. Why are you not attempting to control your own territory? Why work for Valentino?"

Angel's eyes narrowed. "First of all, 'cuz Val has my contract and there ain't nothin' I can do about that." Wiping his lips and swallowing the extra threads that stuck to his teeth, the spider leaned back to rest on Al's thighs. "Even if he didn't, though, I fuckin' hate politics. Why would I wanna get involved with all those schmoes? That's Cherri's gig, an' I like helpin' her. I ain't gonna try and throw my shit in the ring if Cherri's already in it." Angel reached out and gently stroked Al's ears. "Why are we talkin' about this? Hows about we go back ta you, mm, shug? I mean, damn, if you're that hungry, I can -" He gestured toward his own body. "Don't go rippin' holes in yourself."

"I am inquiring because I despise that bottom-feeder of an Overlord," Alastor snapped. "My issues are not up for discussion tonight, so you'll kindly keep your opinions about my behavior to yourself if you wish to continue this little game. And I am well aware Valentino holds your contract. There IS, in fact, something I can do about it. I suspect you are smart enough to know that. So why have you not asked for my assistance?"

Angel blinked. It had never crossed his mind to ask Alastor to stand up to Valentino for him, for more reasons than one.

"First of all," he snorted through gritted teeth. "I ain't in need of nobody's ASSISTANCE." Anger made Angel's eyes flare bright pink, and Alastor felt his heart skip a little in sheer surprise. "I don't need YOUR goddamn intervention, Alastor!"

Angel's voice kept creeping higher in octave, louder and louder. He knew this was the PCP talking, his anger and his self-hatred, screaming at him to finally get a grip and stand up for himself. To be something more than...someone else's pretty toy. It wasn't just that, either. Alastor's adamant refusal to open up was just...just...infuriating! This was just like him. He could save you, he could touch you, he could tease and hurt and manipulate you, but how dare you even consider doing those things to him.

"You don't have to fuckin' save me, I'm fuckin' fine! I like my life just the way it is! I like being a slut! I like having everyone stare at me! It's everythin' I couldn't get in my life! Yeah, it comes with a few shitty catches, but ya know, it ain't worse than being alive." Angel swallowed and looked away. "I don't want ya to save me from Val," he said finally. "Because...I gotta....I gotta do that myself."

Alastor blinked. "You..." His brows furrowed deeply as he tried to process the statement in his drug-addled state. "You want to...save yourself?"

"Yes." Angel's voice was firm. He knew the Radio Demon was unlikely to remember this exchange, and he was too tired to pretend anymore. "Yes, I wanna save myself. I want somebody to....to see me as their hero. I want somebody to -" He swallowed hard and his face went purple.

Alastor's brows shot up. "Want someone to do what, Angel?"

"I ain't tellin' you." The spider wrinkled his nose, revealing his golden fang, and narrowed his eyes at Alastor. "I ain't playin' yer little game, Al. I know betta'."

"I think you will. In time. Maybe not even so much time." Alastor leaned forward, touching his nose to Angel's, and swept his hand down the spider's furred chest. "I can tell by that hungry look on your face."

Angel bit back a moan and barely managed not to arch his back, scowling. "I ain't got a fuckin' look on my face. I'm full."

"You know, telling lies only mars your beauty." Angel glowered harder, but Alastor's eyes gleamed in the dark with unbridled....something. "You want truth and...and reality? Is that it?" The deer paused, taking long, slow breaths. "You want to know what will....what will inspire my lusts?"

Angel nodded silently, but a niggling doubt, a tiny thread of fear, touched his heart.

"Devouring you," Alastor whispered, choking on the sudden, wild, angry desire in his voice. "Slicing my way into your chest. Consuming your heart. Consuming your heat." His smile widened into a maw of teeth. "I....I want to...." He expected to see fear in Angel's face. Or disgust. Or both. He knew what other demons thought of him - a sinner who had somehow managed to become an Overlord through brutal murders. And worse, by devouring his victims. Even in Hell, cannibalism lingered on the edges of the taboo. It was his silent, seething shame. And it wasn't even a shame he could truly feel. He didn't understand why the others had such issues with it. After all, he didn't kill anyone who didn't deserve it. He was doing all of Hell a service by cleaning up the garbage. More a carrion-eater than a cannibal, if you asked him. But then again, Al supposed, nobody loved vultures either.

When he spoke, Angel's voice was gentle. "You know...I actually understand."

"You....what?" Alastor's voice stopped squealing with static, and his body relaxed as Angel leaned forward and languished over his chest. He turned his eyes up into the spider's face, eyebrows raised.

"I understand," Angel repeated. "It ain't that surprising, honestly, Al. Welcome to Hell. We're being punished here, right? All we have is...is our sins. Our lusts, our greed, our pride. The things we decided to throw away our humanity for." The spider paused, taking a deep breath. "Mine was a fuckload of drugs and some abusive fucking dicks, both literally and figuratively. Yours....yours was cannibalism and murder. Right?"

"I...." Alastor's voice failed him. "Yes."

"So my point is, your desire is what's gonna hurt you."

"That is...surprisingly deep of you, Angel Dust."

"Okay. First of all, my name's Antoni and you can call me Toni. Second, for the final time, I am NOT A FUCKIN' IDIOT! It is possible to be both a hooker AND a genius!"

His pout was so sincere that Alastor couldn't keep from laughing, which only brought the spider's wrath down on him in a flurry of blows and angry exclamations.

"Ah, parley. Parley!" Alastor threw up his hands. "I surrender, please! No more!"

"Asshole." Angel folded his arms over his chest. "I'm tryin' ta help."

"Oh, I am well aware." Alastor leaned forward, dipping his head under Angel's, and he let his eyes nearly close. "I'm...I am accepting your help." Very slowly, almost nervously, the wendigo leaned forward and kissed Angel's cool lips. He could feel the spider twitch under him, which only made him hungrier. He dug his nails into Angel's flesh, down his back, feeling the resistance of fur, follicles, and water. "I want you."

"Well, you have me," Angel whispered, his chest tight with emotions he couldn't totally grasp. Alastor...was accepting his help? Alastor was...he was...he saw Angel as worthy of...of that trust? "My help, my heart, my mind, my fuckin' dick, my lust, my obsession, my fear, my life...my love." He kissed his way down Al's chest and sighed blissfully. "Ya wanna kill me, okay. I'm okay with that. Ya wanna fuck me stupid? Okay with that too. You already have me. You've had me since the first time I saw ya."

"No, I don't." Alastor's eyes glowed and he grabbed Angel by his slender throat, pressing in until the spider stopped gasping and leaned into his hands willingly. Angel's eyes glazed and he shivered, a flash of pleasure crossing his features. He slumped forward into the grip, his arms dropping limply to his sides as the edges of the world began to go dark. It was the sad, sweet smile that unlocked Alastor's fingers, too late. Angel's body was a puppet with its strings cut. He toppled backward senselessly, nearly tumbling to the floor before Alastor's drug-hazed brain realized what was happening and scooped the limp body into his arms.

"Angel!" Panic edged the deer's words. "Angel. Angel! Fuck." This hadn't been his intent, he realized with sudden shock. Despite the roaring core of him, the darkness that curled in his guts, he actually felt pain and concern seeing the spider's unmoving form. It was a stark contrast to what he had expected to feel, and it shook him deeply. Maybe he didn't want the arachnid dead, after all. "Angel, wake up, for fuck's sake."

"Aw, sweetling, ya do care!" Angel's voice was raw, but tinged with good humor. "I'm okay. You ain't the first to choke me out an' ya won't be the last."

Alastor's eyes flared. "I will. Because if anyone else lays a hand on what's mine, I WILL END THEM." A sharp squeal of static echoed in the words. He felt...exposed, his emotions raw and pink and tender. Possessiveness and jealousy flooded him, unwelcome.

"Kinky. So only you can kill me?" Angel's eyelashes fluttered, and he grinned in a way that made Alastor's insides do cartwheels.

"I don't want to kill you," the deer muttered. "Such a waste...no, I want to use you. Abuse you, perhaps. Claim you as my own." He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Angel's. "My sweet Angel."

Angel bit back a moan of self-indulgent desire at Alastor's words. Goddamn that was sexy. Claim him. Angel shuddered, unaware of Alastor's internal battle and too blissfully high to care. "Abuse me, huh? How ya gonna do that?"

The stag considered his prey for a long moment, letting waves of pleasurable sensation from the drugs and drink mingle with his awkward emotional affliction. "I suppose I will just have to...force you to tell me," he said finally, chewing on the thought. "You are a sexual thing, are you not? Perhaps I should tie you up and tease you until you provide me the information needed."

Angel dissolved. Melted. Fell apart. "Holy shit is that hot," he whined. "Alastor. Yes, definitely yes. Please."

"Please?" The Radio Demon quietly stroked Angel's chest fur, then his hair, and finally rested his lithe fingers on the spider's hips. At least he seemed to be in the right ballpark. He didn't feel desire the way Angel did, and he knew it. But Alastor still had a soul. Twisted, scarred beyond recognition, perhaps, but a soul nevertheless. He could appreciate pleasure, joy, pain, sadness. He understood them, even if he didn't feel them the way others could. His desire for the spider was more than sexual, certainly. But the idea of watching Angel melt under his hands, the thought of listening to the spider's cries of ecstasy and pain as Alastor pleasured him, that was enticing. Perhaps even arousing. "Please what, my lovely little arachnid?"

"Please....do?" Angel's head was swimming by now, filled with a strange sweet disconnection from his body and a bone-deep craving for Alastor's touch. Thank you, PCP. "If that's what ya want." It felt like one of Val's high-roller scenes, the ones where Val made sure he was lost in some drug-induced euphoria before he sent him in to the client. The ones where he bled, or ended up with broken bones, or cried. Or all three. The Pavlovian desire was too strong to fight. This was the state he belonged in. This was his punishment, this was his life. The game that Valentino played with him...he deserved it. He shivered and moaned Alastor's name. If ever he had wanted Valentino to toy with him, he wanted it twice as much from Alastor.

"Angel." Al's voice was low and vibrated in the air. "Is this what you want?"

"Doesn't matta', Mista' Alastor," Angel panted. "You paid, you play. I'm all yours."

Al's brow furrowed deeply. "Money does not equal consent, Toni." He leaned close, cupped Angel's face in his hand, and kissed him. The immediate whimper, the choked sound of desire, the twist of Angel's spine - that's where he found the consent. He didn't bother to remind the spider he hadn't paid, either. "Do you want this?"

"Y....yes?" Angel's voice was nearly demolished, but he spoke anyway. "Of course I do. L...like I said, I...."

Alastor's brows arched.

"I...." Angel closed his eyes and drowned himself in the sensation and the drugs. "I want you more than I've wanted anything in my entire fucking afterlife." Angel flinched, waiting for rage. A blow. A laugh. Instead, he was...kissed?

Al's soft ears brushed his face. "I'm flattered, Antoni. Truly, I am."

"But?"

"What?"

"Anytime somebody says thank you to me, there's a fuckin' qualification attached."

"....what." Alastor blinked hard, trying to right his otherwise upside-down thoughts. "No. There's no qualification. I'm flattered."

For a second, there was silence. Then, out of nowhere, Angel dissolved into giggles. For a while he managed to prop himself upright, but before long he'd just fallen over into the pile of pillows, laughing so hard he grasped his middle in pain and squeezed his eyes shut. "The...fuckin'....Radio Demon," he howled.

Alastor looked completely lost, but was fighting his own giggles thanks to the rather lovely effects of the ecstasy and liquor. "Not that I don't enjoy listening to your charming laugh, but what exactly is so funny?"

"Nothing. Holy shit. Nothing." Angel wiped tears from his eyes. "I promise."

"Liar."

"If I told you, you'd kill me."

"I thought I said you were mine to do with as I pleased."

Angel fumbled, snapped his mouth closed, and made a conscious effort not to cum from the sheer command of it. He bit his lower lip to keep his hips from twitching. "You're....a cheat," he hissed through clenched teeth.

The buck's laughter was dark and curled in on itself like dry leaves. "This is Hell, Antoni. If you're not cheating, you've already lost." There was that spark of darkness again, the too-sharp smile. Angel shuddered.

"I already toldja, I am yours. It's just kinda ridiculous ta think that Mista' Alastor, the Radio Demon, the fuckin' Overlord of Wrath, is flattered by something little ole porn-star sinner Angel Dust has to say." He shrugged, rolling over onto his back and extending his hand toward Alastor. "I'm just a toy," he continued. There wasn't really inflection in his voice when he said it. "An' Valentino's toy, at that. My opinion ain't shit."

Beside him, he could feel Alastor stiffen. He brushed his hand down the deer's ribs, letting his thoughts drift hazily. "An', I mean, I guess I'm okay with that, ya know? There are worse punishments. All I eva' wanted when I was alive was to be as fuckin' far as I could get from my family's bullshit. And to be me. An' have people like it. Now...they do."

"Nonsense." The word was almost a snarl. "The suggestion that your opinion isn't valuable is complete tripe." Alastor shifted to sit back on his hooves, waving his hand over Angel delicately, as if he were a bubble that might burst if the buck touched his claws to the spider's fur. "My opinion and my emotions belong to me and to no one else - least of all that sleazy, underhanded, STD-addled, uncultured rat Valentino." He exhaled, and Angel could see the dials in his eyes flare as he struggled to control his fury.

"Al. It's...it's okay, really it is. I ain't complainin'. Val saved my sorry ass when I first got here. I owe him." Slowly and gracefully the spider sat up, using his legs in a long arch to lift his torso. It was almost like dancing, and Alastor felt his insides clench.

"You owe him nothing." There was poison in his tone. "Not a whit. That glorified snake oil salesman doesn't even bother to make fair deals. He took full advantage, like he always does. Found a way to get a collar around your neck." Alastor's eyes narrowed. "The only thing he deserves is a slow, painful demise."

Angel barked out a laugh, but he could feel his face getting redder. "It ain't like that. I...Val was nice to me at first. We...we were a thing for a while. An' it was good. It ain't his fault I'm a junkie an' I can't be trusted." The spider wrapped his arms around his torso and looked away.

"Balderdash and foolishness, Angel." Alastor reached over and cupped Angel's face in his claws, turning it until the spider locked eyes with him. "Valentino is only 'nice' to Valentino. Haven't you observed how he treats Vox? And I admit openly I am pleased every time he cracks that pompous, lazy idiot's screen, but I doubt very sincerely that Valentino has ever been kind for the sake of being kind." Very slowly, the stag leaned in and kissed Angel. The scent of orange blossoms made him giddy. Angel purred into the kiss.

"More importantly, you are more than a junkie. And I believe you can be trusted. After all, here I am in your bed, am I not? Naked. Unarmed. Allowing you to touch me." Alastor's eyebrows arched up gracefully. "Do you think I would permit that if I didn't trust you?"

Angel shrugged. "I mean, yer kinda high, so....I dunno?"

The deer rolled his eyes and shook his head. "A personal choice aimed at ensuring your comfort, I assure you. I am perfectly capable of controlling myself regardless of my level of inebriation." There was a pregnant pause, and then Alastor pushed himself up to a kneeling position, placing a hand on Angel's chest. The spider shuddered and took a few heady breaths. "If this is to work, my darling, you must first submit to me." Firmly, unyieldingly, Alastor pushed Angel back until he folded, sinking into the warm bed with a little moan of desire. But the stag didn't stop - he shifted, reaching out a leg to straddle Angel's torso and using his knees and ankles to pin the spider's second and third pair of hands. The first pair he grasped in his own, rubbing his thumbs over Angel's wrists and palms.

It shouldn't have been a sensual movement, but it was. Oh, it was. Angel squealed and gasped, biting his lower lip as he grinned and flushed and squeezed his eyes shut.

"What a lovely reaction." Alastor lifted Angel's right hand to his mouth and drew his tongue along the spider's middle finger from base to tip, watching in amusement as Angel's brow furrowed and his flush deepened. "Now, I am going to ask you once again, ma dous araignee, do you trust me? Do you submit to me?"

Angel's voice sweltered. "Yes. Fuck yes, Alastor. I trust you."

"Ah-ah," the stag murmured, shaking his head. "I want more than that. Try again, yon ti kras."

"Alastor," Angel breathed, want dripping from his lips. "I submit to you. Once. Always."


	6. Seal the Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel and Alastor have a heart-to-heart about choices, paths, punishment and redemption. Alastor offers Angel a chance to leave his life with Valentino behind.
> 
> Turns out Al can be pretty darn sweet....when he wants to be.
> 
> Mind the tags, my dears. This chapter deals with some ugliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pa mande m padon = don't apologize to me  
> ti mouton pedi mwen an = my lost lamb  
> kontra avek mwen = deal with me / contract with me  
> ou chwazi mwen = you choose me  
> Lè sa a, mwen reklame ou pou krwaze semen yo = then I claim you for the crossroads  
> Bondye mwen, yon sèl bèl = my God, beautiful one  
> mon petit cher / mon petit araignee = my dear / my dear spider

Alastor's expression morphed immediately, his wide smile switching from teasing and questioning to voracious and charming. His eyes opened and closed with a loud electrical buzz as he leaned in and kissed Angel oh-so-slowly. So slowly it hurt. And worse - his eyes were open the entire time.

Angel squirmed against the stag's grip on him and turned very pink at the collar. There was something that never stopped surprising him about Alastor - usually when a demon was smaller in stature, they weren't also strong enough to stop a truck with their bare hands. That didn't make them less dangerous. Every demon had a way to defend itself. But Alastor was strong in more ways than magical ability. Angel felt his blood quicken a tiny bit in a combination of fear and arousal. He swallowed to avoid letting the knot of desire in his throat make its way into his voice.

"Lust," he said with a smile, "is a good look on you, Mista' Overlord."

"One I suppose you will see often, my Angel." The stag's voice was low and nearly free of static. His ears pricked as far forward as they could go as he turned his head to watch Angel's face. The hard stare only made Angel's embarrassment worse, and he squeaked awkwardly and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Al, don't!"

"Hah!" Alastor snorted loudly. "Quiet, you. You've not the right to tell me what to do, now, do you?"

"No, sir," the spider whispered demurely, without hesitation.

"Good boy. Open your eyes."

Pressing his lips together as his shoulders hitched up toward his ears, Angel slitted his eyes open with a girlish smile. Alastor's ability to push all his buttons was pretty damn shocking. He'd expected Al to be unskilled, awkward, you know...virginal. He wasn't. He wasn't exactly sexy, though. It wasn't sex that drove the sensuality that seemed to seep from him in dark tendrils. It was power. Power and intelligence. Angel shuddered. Al's expression was almost mischievous, and his antlers had nearly doubled in size. Somehow that, too, felt vaguely sensual.

"That always happen, or ya happy ta see me?" Angel teased, reaching out his free hand to brush his fingers over the closest antler. The stag said nothing, but reached forward with his left hand and hooked his thumb into Angel's mouth, forcing his gloved digit over the spider's tongue. Angel went silent, his eyes rolling back in his head a little, and he whimpered happily.

"Look at me, Antoni." Al released Angel's hand, lifting his own to his mouth and using his fangs to remove the glove. His fingers stretched and cracked, curling in toward his palm where they ended in wickedly sharp talons. He ran the bare hand over Angel's face, under his eye, down his chin and neck and ended over his breast, burying the claw in Angel's fur. Angel's eyes lifted to his, and Alastor felt another thrill of hunger. That expression - he could see where Angel's reputation had gotten its start. Those eyes, the carnal glow of his soul behind those long lashes; the come-hither expression that drew the beholder's gaze down to the artistic eroticism of his beautiful body; the provocative twist of his smile, painted with flirtatious promises of pleasure; they combined in an symphony of alluring glamour that absolutely would not be denied. He was a feast to Alastor's tired mind, something new and different, and each facet of his personality was a shiny treasure to be discovered, tasted, touched, and tucked away for future use.

Angel purred at the warm darkness of the stag's voice. "Your voice is fantastic. But if you wanna have a good time, ya better keep up the compliments. I don't work for free."

Alastor huffed. "And I don't patronize Valentino's whores. I only bother with equals."

Angel's grin was downright demonic. "Flatterer."

"I do recall you requesting my compliments," Alastor pointed out, licking his lips slowly. "But Antoni, there remains something we must do." The Radio Demon pressed down with that claw, through the fur, through the flesh, drawing blood and a groan of lust from Angel. He extracted the claw and touched its bloody tip to his tongue, savoring the flavor. Then he pinched down, hard, drawing his own black blood to the surface. He captured a ball of it on the tip of his talon, where it shimmered and sent streamers of steam into the air.

"....there is?" Angel's eyes were wide open now, and he was staring up at Alastor with a look of awed fascination on his face. Alastor nearly shook his head. For such a smart young man, Angel sometimes managed to be fantastically ditzy.

"Yes, ma dous araignee. You see, we're at a bit of an impasse. After all, I am a jealous creature. I do not like to share my things." He leaned closer, and Angel found himself trembling in anticipation as the droplet on his finger swayed. It was hypnotic. "If you are to be mine, you must agree to forsake all others. Including your current...master." The last word he nearly spit, and it burned his tongue to say it. Disgusting. He would see Angel Dust placed on the pedestal he so handsomely deserved. He would see him draped in elegance and kept in comfort and safety.

"Wait, wait...what?" Angel's voice was a fearful whisper, and his eyes had gone the size of dinner plates. "I...Al, ya know I can't. I can't! Val has my soul contract! I...I can't do anythin' about it. Al, I can't. I'm sorry. I..." He tried to sit up, suddenly terrified that this was going to end ugly. Panic made his chest tight, and PCP or no PCP, he wasn't stupid enough to denounce his owner out loud. He knew what would happen if he tried, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

Alastor did not like the crushed expression on his spider's face. That wouldn't do. His smile narrowed to a slit, corners of his lips barely upturned. "Pa mande m padon, little one. You've offered me no offense." The stag took a long breath. "You're at a crossroads, ti mouton pèdi mwen an, and you are the only one who can choose which path you'll take."

"Path?" Angel sighed and let his eyes close. Alastor didn't demand he open them again, so he took a few calming breaths before he continued. "I mean isn't this kinda the end of the paths? We're in Hell, ain't we? Where else do we go?"

"There is always a path," Alastor murmured. "Always choices we can make." Saying it felt cheap, bitter in his mouth. Did he believe that, or was it just a sweet lie to convince the spider to agree to his contract? Emotions tumbled over one another inside him, making his stomach tight. He wasn't sure how many choices were left to him, either. But admitting that this was the end...Alastor wouldn't do it. Couldn't do it. Believing he had control was the only thing keeping him sane.

"Does it matta'? What choice I make? I gave all that up when I contracted wit Val, right? I might choose something, but I ain't got the right. I could promise you I'll neva' see 'im again, an' it'd be a lie, wouldn't it?"

Pain spiked in the Radio Demon's breast. Does it matter what choices we make? How often had he asked himself that question in life? How often had he tried to fool himself into thinking it didn't? But it does, and now you know it does, his little inner voice reminded him. You thought you'd be gone, that what came after death would just be a great black sleep. How wrong you were.

There was a rush of breeze and Angel opened his eyes to see that eerie green glow lifting Alastor's hair and ruffling his ears. The stag's eyes were nearly black, slitted green and red in the dark, and his claw reached for Angel's breast.

"Kontra avèk mwen, Antoni. Become mine, and your promise will not be a lie. I will see to that."

"...what's the catch?"

"No catch!" Alastor forced his grin wider. He couldn't admit to Antoni that this was about his own obsession, his own desires. If the spider knew how badly he wanted this agreement, there was no question Angel would be smart enough to use that to bargain to his advantage. "I simply wish to...help."

"Me. You wanna help me." Angel crossed all his arms and pursed his lips. There was no way he was buying this bullshit. What was in it for Al? Had to be something, or he wouldn't bother. And it sure as all Hell wasn't about Angel himself. At least, he couldn't think of any reason he'd have value to the Radio Demon just by existing.

"I wish to help you help yourself, my dear."

Angel shook his head in disbelief and sighed. "I mean...I guess I got nothin' else ta lose, but...are ya sure ya want...me?"

"Never more." Alastor's face got bright in the darkness, and the humming static increased in pitch. "So? Is it a deal?"

"Not yet it ain't," Angel muttered, narrowing his eyes and wrinkling his nose. "What're the rules?"

Alastor rolled his eyes, his antlers extending in size as he curled possessively over Angel's body. "One rule, and only one. You belong to me - you come when I have need of you, do what I ask of you, and bring honor to my name."

Angel blinked. "Honor? Babe, I'm a whore. What honor -"

"ENOUGH!" Alastor's patience was running thin. He scowled, ears flattening back. "Are you refusing the offer? Do you know better than I? Don't toy with me. State your position. Didn't you just say you trusted me?"

"Yessir." Angel swallowed hard, and felt tears in the corners of his eyes.

"Angel Dust," Alastor continued, "I do not choose the weak. I don't waste my time with pointless deals. And I keep my word. Which is more than I can say for Valentino."

Angel began to laugh softly, sadly, an unhinged giggle that exposed a tiny corner of his deeply damaged soul. "Well...who'm I ta save me from myself? Okay, Alastor. Deal."

"Ou chwazi mwen, Angel Dust?"

"English."

"Do you choose me."

Angel's breath caught a little. Choose him? Why would that matter? This deal wasn't about Angel's choices, it was about him surrendering himself to Alastor's will. So why did the Radio Demon want him to choose first? Suspicion crept into his mind, making his heart race. There was a catch here. There was a trick. "I...yer shittin' me. Didn't I already say I -"

"Angel." Alastor's voice was dangerously low, the viciousness in it enough to make Angel's mouth water. "You test my patience. You can do better."

"Yessir."

"Yes, Alastor, Angel Dust. You shall use my name when you address me."

"Yes, Alastor." The spider's shoulders firmed, and he lifted his chin and opened his eyes, staring into Alastor's. "I...yes, okay? Yes. I choose you. I choose you over Valentino. I choose you over everyone else. I agree to the terms of your contract. I'll be yours."

With a wicked laugh, the stag thrust his claw, along with the bead of blood, into Angel's fur, into his flesh, into the open wound. It burned, setting every inch of Angel's flesh on fire, and he grimaced and bit back a cry of pain.

"Lè sa a, mwen reklame ou pou krwaze semen yo, Angel Dust. I claim you for mine. May the bond be unbroken."

The green rush came a second time, but this time it came with more than just wind. It came with...with sound, with...emotion, with sensation. For a brief moment, Angel felt himself floating in the eye of the storm with Alastor, the stag's hand buried in his chest, wrapping around his heart. Alastor's soul thrilled at the feel of it, the blaze of Angel's soul and heart atwixt his claws, the steady pump of his life against Alastor's palm. It was warm and soft and willing, and Angel's fierce eyes glowed hot-pink in the darkness.

Angel's head was full of bells, and the sound of a hurricane howling in cypress trees, the scent of hot summer rain in the bayou. He could feel Alastor's power probing every secret piece of him, learning, sniffing out his secrets and his failures, running its tongue over his strengths and knitting itself into his desires. For a minute he couldn't breathe. The high of it - of Alastor's full, undivided attention - it was like having a cool wave break over him, scrubbing every inch of him clean of Valentino, making his nerves sing and his body glow. His eyes fluttered closed and he let himself dangle, suspended by the Radio Demon's power, entangled in this weird web of desire and possession. "Fuck, yes."

Alastor's grin curled into a spiral at the edges of his lips, face twisting into a mask of glee as he drove the nasty traces of Valentino's stink from the spider's fur, surprised to find that Angel's scent changed as he exorcised Valentino's contract. The sickly sweet scent faded, leaving behind the smell of damp summer grass under the moon, the warm scent of lavender and sandalwood. He hadn't realized how terribly cloying the spider's smell had been until it fully faded, leaving behind a dewdrop in his hands that shone brighter than the most beautiful diamond.

"Bondye mwen, yon sèl bèl," the deer whispered, stunned. "Where have you been hiding this?"

Angel's eyes blinked open slowly, fuzzy with lust and bliss. "Hidin' what, Alastor?" He felt untethered from the earth, flying. This kind of high...this he hadn't had since the first time he'd touched hard drugs. This feeling, this ecstasy, this was the thing he'd chased for the last eighty years. "Not hidin' from ya."

"I can see that, mon petite cher." The rush of wind faded, and Angel found himself cradled in Alastor's arms as the deer reclined in a pile of Angel's soft pillows. With gentle hands, Alastor wrapped a soft blanket around his long limbs. Then, with that wicked sharp smile of his, the stag wrapped his hands around Angel's neck and twisted his fingers into the spider's hair, pulling tight. Angel whimpered and moaned.

"Fuck yeah. Harder."

"If you call me Daddy, I will never touch you again."

Angel whined. "Okay, okay, I get yer point. I ain't gonna do it again." Alastor's grip just kept tightening until pain overtook lust. "Mercy."

The fingers unclenched, and Alastor's mouth was on his neck, kissing hungrily. "I do not believe I have given you permission to request mercy."

"Ya didn't forbid it eitha'," Angel pointed out roughly, flexing his spine to curl up and press his warm lips to Al's. When they broke, it took Al a second to close his mouth, and there was a heady, distant look on his face. Angel smiled coquettishly.

The deer's eyes closed again and he pulled Angel closer, sliding his arm under the spider's shoulders and nuzzling his nose into the soft fur. He could feel Angel's pulse against his stomach, and a vague unease made his breath quicken.

"Yes?" Angel's voice was firm without being commanding, full of heat without burning. Alastor's head tilted to the left in fascination. What was it that imbued his tone with that unfamiliar sound? He rolled the thought in his mind.

"Confidence."

"Wha'?" Angel's head was slow to rise, and he blinked turgidly, feeling the high roll over him. He raised both eyebrows at Alastor.

"You're pretty," Alastor slurred happily the stiffness and electricity of the contract's power easing away into a warm softness in his face as he kissed Angel's neck with a giddy chuckle. "And the reason you're pretty is..." he paused to nuzzle the spider's neck. "...confidence."

Angel tried not to laugh and failed miserably. "I'm a porn star, suga'."

"Not anymore," Alastor pointed out primly. "Not if you don't want to be."

"...I..." He hadn't thought of that. He was...he was free. Did he want to be a porn star? Did he need to be? "I...but...I mean, what...what else would I do?"

Alastor's laugh was loud and brassy, a clanging sound in the dark room. "Why, anything you want, my darling! Sing! Dance! Murder everyone who ever dared to sink claws into your perfect flesh." The stag's eyes glowed in the dark, casting crimson shadows on Angel's face. "Tell me what it is you want, and you shall have it, mon petit araignee. All that, and more."

Angel seemed to consider this for a long moment, and then with a smooth movement, spun himself out of Alastor's lap and pushed the deer onto his back, sliding down his body to settle with a pleased smirk between the other demon's legs. "Anything I want? Even you?" Angel's breath was hot over Alastor's hipbones, his lips and fangs dangerously close to the deer's genitalia.

As Alastor struggled to reorient himself to the sudden shift, the world slowly spinning back into place, Angel stretched gracefully and settled between the Overlord's knees. Two of his hands gripped Al's ankles, gently stroking his thumb over the hock as he examined the other creature's petit hooves. "Ya never mentioned these," he murmured, running a finger between the claws. A small, choked sound came from Alastor, and Angel raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Are they sensitive?"

Al jerked his hoof out of Angel's hand. "I said nothing of the sort."

"Didn't haveta." One hand pinned Al's knee to the bed while the other stroked the length of his shin, down the cloven hoof, between the toes. They flared a little in response to the touch in spite of Alastor's best efforts to remain still, and Angel's grin grew predatory. "See? Ya like it."

"I certainly never said that," Alastor spat. "Sensitivity and enjoyment are entirely separate matters."

"So they ARE sensitive!" Angel's voice brimmed with mischievous pride as he continued to stroke the foot, running his other hands down Alastor's left leg and pinning that to the bed as well. His two free hands brushed his hair out of his eyes and then dusted over his stomach, drawing a low moan from him.

Al hadn't bothered to answer Angel's not-question, because, frankly, it was not a question. And he refused to acknowledge the self-satisfied statement with any commentary of his own. How undignified. But his body was beginning to swell with heat, a wiggling desire that crept into his heavy limbs and blurred his vision. "Mon Ange," he whispered, closing his eyes. He felt flushed and feverish and he didn't like it. A low buzz of panic set in, tangling into the high and shaking him roughly. He didn't want to unsettle Angel, who had been trying surprisingly hard to keep him happy in spite of his own tipsy state.

He failed.

Angel stopped moving, and swung his hips off Alastor into an easy cross-legged pose. "Alright, talk to me, Mista Radio Demon."

"W...what?" There was a moment of confused static in Alastor's voice. "Whatever about?" He sat up sharply, and winced as the room spun dizzingly.

Angel raised an eyebrow and crossed all three sets of arms. "About what, my furry ass," he sniped. "About whateva' it is that's gotcher little fluffy tail in a twist, Bambi."

The deer blinked. "My tail...." he trailed off and tried to lift his body to look down his spine, wiggling the appendage as if to check whether it were, in fact, in a twist. "S'nothing wrong with my tail."

Angel slapped his forehead with two left hands. "Alastor."

"Mmm?" The red eyes blinked.

"I'm not talking about yer actual tail, ya dipshit." Angel poked his fingers into Alastor's chest. "Let me spell it out for ya. There. Is. Somethin'. Wrong. An'. Ya. Aren't. Tellin'. Me."

Alastor's ears drooped. His demeanor shifted hard, flickering between dialed-eyed and sad-puppy-eyed, which made Angel's head spin. Angel narrowed his eyes and examined the Radio Demon's face. Despite the glow, his eyes were glassy and his pupils blown-out, face pale but for the faint flush over the bridge of his nose. The smile was gone, which Angel found eerie, but there was no other expression there but...confusion? Bemusement? He wasn't angry, which didn't make sense. He almost looked...small. Frightened.

"Ya look....scared," Angel said, without thinking. Immediately, he regretted it. He glanced at Alastor's face, expecting to see rage, or his imminent death. But there was...nothing. The same sad, small, distant look as a moment before. "....Al?" he touched the other demon's shoulder cautiously, nearly pulling his hand back when Alastor flinched.

"I promise you," Alastor began, his voice strangely emotionless and distinctly staticless. "I am perfectly fine." He was still staring at nothing. "I am simply....confused."

Angel snorted. "I can see that."

"I find this state of mind unnerving," Alastor said after a long silence. "I am not accustomed to feeling...out of my own control. Do you feel like this all the time?"

For a second, Angel almost felt angry. But then he processed the words, and a strange squeezing sensation wrapped around his heart. Did he feel like this all the time? The words poured out of him before he could stop himself. "Nah. I mean, not all the time. Usually mostly just when I'm workin'." He paused. "When I first started wit Val, y'know, it was nice. Free drugs, right? Who says no ta that?" Another long pause. "I mean, I always liked the dust fer that, made things...easier. Made 'em less...loud. Painful. S'easy ta fuck a john when ya don't know yer own name."

Alastor's brow furrowed. "Are you saying that you deliberately get high to work?" It was past his comprehension, and would have been even if he were sober. "I suppose I can understand why you would not want to....remember partaking in your particularly...abhorrent profession, but I was under the impression you did so on your own will. Is that not so?"

"I...." Angel flushed and glanced away. "It ain't none a yer business, but yeah, I did it 'of my own will', ya fuckin' asshole. That don't mean it was always fuckin' fun fer me. Do you like killin' every stupid shithead demon who comes fer yer turf, or do ya do it cuz ya gotta?"

Alastor considered that for a long time before smiling widely. "Oh, my, yes. Of course I enjoy it." He curled his claws into his palm with a faraway smile. "There is nothing more delicious than squeezing the life from a creature and watching its eyes lose their light."

Angel shuddered, and Alastor grimaced, realizing this perhaps had not been the correct answer. His ears flicked. "This bothers you," he mused. "Why?"

"Why..." The spider shook his head in disbelief. "Well, let's see. I'm close enough to ya that killin' me'd be easy, an' ya just basically admitted ya get off on murderin' other demons, so uh..."

"I have no interest in killing you." Alastor's voice was completely clear, and completely flat. It was almost unsettling. "You belong to me."

"I'm not sure if I should be insulted, or thrilled," Angel replied dryly. "I mean, what happens when that changes? Fer me, or fer any'o'us? Husk? Charlie?"

Alastor's mouth screwed up and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. "What a foul notion." He sniffed and shook his head lightly, as if he'd bitten into something extremely sour. "I have no desire to kill anyone in my employ or in my debt, nor am I foolish enough to consider murdering the Princess of Hell. If such a thing were even possible, which I doubt."

"Well, then, there ya go," Angel huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "There ARE some people ya don't wanna kill. So think of it that way. I don't wanna fuck Vaggie. Like. Eva'. But if she paid the right price...well, I am for sale, aren't I?"

"You are no longer for sale," Alastor snarled. "There isn't a creature in Hell who could afford my price."

Angel tittered. "I...I can't say I'm sorry about that, but that ain't the question ya asked. So fine, I WAS fer sale. So I did."

The Radio Demon's face went from disgusted to mildly disturbed. He glanced at Angel, a hard curiosity in his stare, and shook his head. "You didn't."

"I jus' said I did. 'Cuz I hadta. Ya really think I liked turnin' ass-end-up for fuckin' freaks like Travis?"

"Whom?"

"Travis. Ya know, the little owl-lookin' bastard with the -" Angel shook his head. "Nevamind. Th'point is, yea, I was fer fuckin' sale. I slept wit the highest bidda'. That's how it works, an' that's how Val makes all his fuckin' money. I like fuckin', at least if it's a dude, so normally I didn't care. But there's always one. Sometimes more'n one. Some of those clowns are fuckin' nasty. And not just physically. The kind that make yer skin crawl. An'...an' it got worse, ova' time. Usedta be that Val kept me mostly fer himself. But...he got bored...an'..."

"That's quite the descriptor, given your surrounds," Alastor murmured, gesturing as if to indicate all of Hell.

"No kiddin'." Angel shrugged. "It's easier when ya don't really know what's goin' on. If I can feel, but not....see...not....I dunno, perceive? S'more fun. An' less gross." He paused. "But what you did...jus' now..."

"What I did?" Alastor's ears flickered up in curiosity. "I did nothing new. I simply extended my contract and protection to you and exorcised Valentino's influence."

"Suga', I think y'don't really know what yer power feels like ta the rest'o'us."

"How...it feels? Did you feel something?" This was fascinating. Neither Niffty nor Husk had ever mentioned feeling anything during the contracting process.

"Bet yer skinny ass I did," Angel breathed, lowering himself over Alastor's body 'til they lay chest-to-chest. "Best high I've ever had. You're...you're magic."

"I assure you, Angel, I did nothing intentionally."

"Doesn't matta'." He laid his forehead on Al's chest. What was he doing? Had he really just bargained his soul to Alastor? It felt like it had been...hours, days since they'd come upstairs. "What time is it?"

"Quarter to four."

"Jesus." Angel rubbed his face. "Feels like hours."

"If you wish, I am happy to retire to my quarters and leave you to some evidently much-needed rest."

"No!" Angel wrapped all of his arms around Al's waist at the suggestion. "No. Please don't." He honestly wasn't sure where to go from here. Fucking Al now felt...dirty. Wrong. He didn't....he didn't WANT to. He wanted to lay here, clinging to this daydream, focused on only the sound of Al's heartbeat and the strange soothing sense of safety he offered. But it wasn't going to last. He'd come down. They both would. And then...

Alastor was humming beneath his breath, murmuring words to a song so familiar that it brought confused tears to Angel's eyes. All of this had been so intense, so emotional....it couldn't be real. Certainly he'd wake up tomorrow and all of this would be just a dream.

"It is not a dream, Angel dear." Claws carded through his hair, and the humming became a quiet lullaby. "Oh, but you're lovely.... mmm mm mmm.....there is nothing for me to love you....just the way you look tonight." The piano chords swelled behind his voice, growing in the hum as if his chest had become the bell of a gramophone, his static crackling under it all. It was blessed white noise mingled with the sound of life, a long long time ago.

"...the way you hold your knife..." Angel replied, his voice barely loud enough to be called singing.

"The way we danced 'til three?" The claws danced down his back, tickling his vertebrae, an imaginary string of piano keys, or maybe the keys of a saxophone. It was a familiar and intimate touch, coaxing.

"...the way you changed my life -" The smile on Angel's face as he lifted his head made Alastor's own grin glow in response. He looked simply pleased as punch.

"No, they can't take you away from me." Alastor smirked, one ear quirked down toward his shoulder in a gesture of contentment.

"Keep that breathless charm." Angel's voice grew sweeter and stronger, switching back to the first song, drawing the edges of Al's smile higher and higher. He liked that. Liked that he could see Alastor's happiness with him so clearly on his face, even though that smile never truly seemed to change. It did, he thought giddily. It did change, and he could change it. It was like knowing some bawdy little secret about Alastor, the kind only lovers know. "Won't you please arrange it? 'Cuz I love you..."

"Just the way you look tonight." Alastor finished the song with his creamy baritone, nearly dipping into the lowest of his register, and ending the note with his lips against Angel's. The moment might have ended there, beautifully, except for Angel's brain. That brain that so often spent its time flirting, drowning in liquor like an over-soaked rum cake, sped up or slowed down by who knew what drug - that brain that everyone thought was punched full of more holes than swiss cheese - that brain realized something.

Something kind of important.

"Wait justa minnit," the spider slurred, running his tongue over both lips as his brow furrowed in consternation. "I didn't say that."

"Say what, Angel, dear?"

"I neva' said I thought it was a dream."

"Of course you did, dear heart." Alastor's airy chuckle was accompanied by a dismissive wave of his gloved hand.

"No, I di'nt," Angel insisted. The harder he tried to think about it, the thicker his thoughts got. He pushed his way through out of sheer stubbornness, butting his head against Alastor's charming stupid smile to prove he was right. "I di'nt, I know I -"

Mmm. Kisses. Alastor's mouth was warm and so....so goddamn persuasive. Forget, it whispered. Let it go. Just let go and relax....and go back to floating....

"Hey." Angel pushed Alastor back, and glared into the deer's maniacally grinning face. Alastor's eyes wrinkled at the corners, and his nostrils flared in approval.

"Yes?"

"Quit that, I'm try'n'a say -"

Alastor kissed him again. Angel moaned in frustration, gritting his teeth to hold his mind in place.

"Stoooop," he whined, sticking his hand between their mouths when Alastor tried to swoop in and kiss away more of his thoughts. "I didn't say that out loud," he repeated, more firmly. "I know it. So stop try'n'a flirt yer way outta it. How'd you know?"

Alastor let out a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes, but there was a sparkle of pleasure in his face. "You stubborn, clever thing."

"Those compliments boughtcha another fifteen minnits. Talk."

Radio static flared as Alastor's grin widened even more. He didn't speak, but Angel could hear his song. It wasn't in the world. It wasn't in the air. It was...it was inside him, the sound of the song. In Angel's chest. I've got you deep in the heart of me...so deep in my heart that you're really a part of me...

He shouldn't have known what it meant, but somehow, without words, those couple bars of a song told Angel everything. He exhaled and found himself thinking at Alastor, deliberately, just to see if his theory held true. So, what - I'm your new favorite radio station?

"Indeed you are, mon petit cher." Alastor's bare hand was cupping Angel's cheek, and it kept pushing all attempts at thought right out of him. He offered the deer a contented half-purr and let his eyes close again.

This is nice.

"And yet, you do not trust me."

Angel flinched. "It ain't that." Alastor kissed him again, and his thoughts went a little bubbly. "Truth? Ya make me nervous. This...seems too good ta be true." Immediately a few bars of the Frankie Valli song filled the air, and the spider snickered and glanced up into Al's eyes. That was a mistake. The world stopped for a second as Alastor offered Angel the kindest look the spider had ever seen on the Radio Demon's face, a sort of affectionate half-smile with his ears at half-mast. The frustration boiling in Angel's chest died on his lips, and he felt himself melt a little.

"Very funny. I mean it, though. If ya wake up tomorra' an' y'don't - I mean, if ya made a mistake -"

"I don't make mistakes," Alastor responded primly. Then he grinned with ferocity. "Your new master is infallible."

Angel tried not to giggle. He really did. He held it in, puffed up his cheeks, and blew his laughs through his nose...until Alastor shrugged. "Go on, laugh." Angel's giggling made Alastor tingly. In this altered state of mind, it had its own sound, color, texture. It washed over him in glittery waves of blowing snow. "Humor aside, my dear, please do not presume that because I am intoxicated I am incapable of making my own choices. Hardly that. And I do not make deals lightly, or without forethought. I am not so crass as Valentino to simply slap my seal on any ragged creature willing to accept it. After all, I have standards."

The Radio Demon watched with almost clinical curiosity as Angel Dust blushed. The warm pink spread across his chest, over his collarbones and shoulders, tinting his white fur pale magenta as a pair of his hands lifted to cover his face. Alastor found himself grinning stupidly, amused to no end at this little turn of fate.

"Shy, my darling?" he asked softly, his voice dipping and swaying. "You shouldn't hide from your master."

Angel nearly choked. "M...master?" The word felt right, and yet also distinctly uncomfortable. He chewed his bottom lip. "That yer preferred moniker, Al?"

The deer demon only smiled. He always smiled.

"I ain't sorry, but ya know, y'might wanna try to...I dunno, be a little more clear....wit me...I ain't that bright."

"My darling, your light puts even the moon herself to shame," Alastor purred. "The queen's ransom of my collection of crown jewels."

Angel's heart was putty in this demon's hands. He always knew exactly the right thing to say. "Yessir," he whispered.

"Good boy," Alastor returned, softer than silk.


	7. Your Perfect Victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Angel and Alastor get a little bit smutty, and then get into a fistfight. It's all the same, right?
> 
> WARNING - discussion of Angel's past participation in snuff and vore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eske ou vrèman grangou anpil, mezanmi = are you really so hungry, my friend?  
> mon petit oiseau chanteur = my little songbird

The deer's voice made Angel tingly from head-to-toe. He'd stopped moving, resting submissively between Alastor's knees, bare hands on Al's velvety-furred ankles. He breathed in and let the breath out slowly, his head dropping forward in slow-motion as his spine and shoulders unwound. He looked downright heavenly to Alastor - his pose, his relaxation, the color of his opalescent fur in the multicolored lights. His energy had completely changed. He was someone else. Angel Dust, porn star extraordinaire, the property of the House of Valentino - not a lick of him was left. In his lap was....a stranger. An Angel.

"You will tell me if you wish for mercy, will you not, my sweet Angel?"

Slowly, coyly, Angel lifted his eyes. Pink flared savagely in the darkness, blazing beneath his pale lashes, an expression of such feral insolence. Such cheek! Alastor felt a dark chuckle rumble in his chest. The spider was an elegant performer, he thought. This would be very entertaining.

"Oh, yes, Alastor," Angel purred saucily. "But don't think y'gonna get it from me easy, now."

"Oh darling. Don't threaten me with a good time!"

"Neva', Mista' Alastor." Angel stretched unhurriedly, showing the lean length of his torso. Alastor's own eyes had gone bedroom-hooded, his tongue wetting his lips and running over his teeth as he watched the white fur go taut over the spider's muscled midsection. He ran his claws down Angel's side as the creature in his lap wrapped his second pair of hands in the fur at the nape of his neck, and dropped the last pair to his thighs, palms up. The message was clear: kitchen's open. Come on in.

Alastor's vision blurred, he was so hungry. He could feel the rush in his mouth as he began to salivate, the burn of the acidic liquid his body produced to devour flesh and bone. He'd have to be careful with that. If Angel wanted kisses, he'd get a mouthful of bitter poison he wasn't expecting. Probably not very sexy. Not that Alastor had much context, but it seemed common sense. He swallowed hard to reduce the volume of the liquid in his mouth, dusting his claws over Angel's abdomen again, watching the fur ruffle and poof up where his fingers stimulated it. That was very pretty, now, wasn't it? And as the fur rose, so did the flush in Angel's skin - not just in some places, but anywhere Alastor touched him. The spider's chest was rising and falling a little more quickly than it had been, Alastor thought. And there was something in those heterochromatic eyes, a hunger that matched his own.

"Ah, I see," the deer murmured knowingly. "So you, too, have a penchant for gluttony, don't you, Angel dear?"

The spider didn't respond aloud, but cast his head to the right, tucking his chin flirtatiously against his shoulder and curling his lips back from his fangs until his gold tooth gleamed in the light. Alastor's fingers touched his lips, making Angel blush and flinch away.

"How charming."

"Al, stoppit." Angel's face kept getting brighter, the pink glow tinting his fur fuchsia. "Ya can't say that kinda embarrassin' shit."

"Can't? Can't! What a ludicrous notion, mon petit araignee. To think, so foolishly, that there is anything I cannot do with you now that you belong to me, my darling." Al sat up in a liquid movement, grasping the fluff on Angel's chest to pull the spider down into his lap. Angel bowed willingly, twisting his neck to keep staring up into Alastor's face. His cheeks had gone pink and his eyes were glazed, mouth cracked open to allow him to continue making those delicious little noises, the tip of his tongue barely visible as he panted in Alastor's grip. "What a delicious sight you are."

"Y...ya gonna eat me, Mista' Alastor?" Angel moaned lasciviously, sliding his knees apart between Al's and using his bottom hands to prop his body against the bed as his hips hitched and rocked into the mattress.

"Eske ou vrèman grangou anpil, mezanmi?" Shadows bucked around the Radio Demon's body, crawling up out of the bed itself, hovering near Angel's legs, his waist, his arms. So close that they....they made him ache with their absence. He whimpered. He still couldn't understand the deer's words in that strange tongue, but somehow his mind kept...kept translating? Comprehending?

"Yes. Yes, ya fucker. Yes, I'm that hungry." He licked his teeth and swallowed hard, hips still moving on their own. "Al...Please."

"Please, please. Please what, my little turtle dove?" With each 'please', the Radio Demon let one of the tentacles grip part of Angel. First his left leg, then his right, and the last wrapped around his waist, dangling down over his belly button to worm dangerously close to his....his....Angel swallowed hard. He didn't really want Al to....to find out. He'd probably think it was weird, or gross. It kind of was, honestly. Not only did he have a strange dick - one of the blessings of Hell, he supposed - but he had more. More bits that he shouldn't have. Parts that his human body certainly hadn't had. He instinctually moved to close his legs, but a swift movement of one of Alastor's tentacles stopped him.

"I think not, flutterbug," the deer was purring, the warm appendage pushing back on Angel's thighs, heat making his muscles tremble.

"Yessir."

"Much better!"

Angel flushed. He felt so...exposed, even though he was still technically fully clothed. The soft cotton sleepshirt swayed at his hips and his panties were firm and soft against the bulge of his sex. He could feel himself and all he wanted to do was reach into his underwear and free the damn thing. Stupid retractable dick. It was like living in permanent chastity. Val used to get a kick out of that, binding Angel's hands so he couldn't help himself, and teasing him until he was a wobbly puddle in the pimp's hands. But Al didn't know anything about his body, so....

The tentacle around his waist dipped lower, sliding into his panties. Angel bucked in shock, eyes going wide, and Alastor switched his hand from the spider's chest fur to wrap his fingers into Angel's hair, jerking his head back. The position strained the flexibility of his neck, making his breath come in short gasps, and Angel's eyes rolled back in his head.

"You like that, do you, little one?" Another tug, another moan. "Yes, yes it does seem that you do."

The shirt caught deliciously against his fur as it stood on end, his body shaky and beginning to feel so damn good he could hardly stand it. Between the E, Alastor's rough hands, and the unexpected intimacy and embarrassment of this situation, Angel's body was warm and limber and loose. He wanted Al so damn bad. His hips squirmed and his nose wrinkled again into that feral grimace, making Alastor hum happily.

"There's that delightful face again. Such lip, my flippant friend. Such impudence. Such sass."

Angel trembled. He hadn't actually been sassy, had he? Usually he remembered when he'd mouthed off a button man. It wasn't usually such a good idea. Killers tended to have short fuses, and unlike Valentino, a murderer like Alastor was significantly more likely to knock him off if he misbehaved, just for, ya know, funsies.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, keeping his head bowed and closing his eyes.

Alastor's hand was harsh on his jaw, claws cutting. "Oh no you don't." The deer clucked his teeth, shaking his head with that smug smirk. "Don't you dare apologize for that. Why, I would venture so far as to say your guff is one of your most alluring traits!"

He was surprised to see the look of shock on Angel's face. Did the spider truly think Alastor would want him as Valentino did, carrying those big brass ones of his in a little pouch with his eyes down, flinching and mincing and broken?

"Angel, don't look so surprised. You've met Husker and dear little Niffty. Did you honestly believe that I would treat my retainer with such pedestrian ugliness? No, no, my sweetling. One does not place the nightingale in a cage where no one can hear her sing because she is a little brown bird. She is perfect just as she is. As are you. Do not hide because you believe I will find you somehow substandard if you are ... undomesticated. Never that! Why, your charm relies on it." The deer's tentacle was touching, probing, stroking him in places that were just...just...so....

What is WRONG wit you, Angel? he found himself thinking in frustration, his mind stuttering between sobriety and inescapable sky-high pleasure. Maybe E had been a mistake. Everybody in fuckin' Hell's already seen yer bits. Ain't like it's some big state secret whatcha got under yer skirt. So why're ya actin' like some twit just 'cause he's got his....his....

"My what, flutterbug?" Alastor's face was too close, his breath hot on Angel's neck, and then they were kissing. Not the kind of kissing that you did on a park bench, the kind that was pure and blameless and brief. No. Not the kind of kissing he'd expect from Alastor, the sexless freak. It was...it was warm, wet kissing. Deep, invasive kissing with tongue, with teeth. The kind of kissing that left Angel dizzy and hot. He moaned into the kiss, and Alastor's gloved hand slid down his stomach and between his legs. He shuddered.

"You forgot, eh? My, what a short memory you have. Perhaps all that powder has had it's effect after all."

"....wh...what?" His voice stumbled shamefully, and Angel pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He was always such a mess. Alastor was going to think he was an absolute idiot.

"Angel, Angel, Angel." His name in Alastor's mouth...it rolled over the Radio Demon's tongue in honeyed circles, making Angel's head fuzzy. The sound of it created its own form of inebriation. Angel's head was swimming. He could feel each one of his heartbeats, feel the pulse of his own unlife through his veins. But there was more there, now. Laced in the cracks of him, the missing pieces and the scars, the wounds that ran too deep to touch - there was something now. Something emerald and ruby. Something too foreign to be him. He shivered.

"Yes, Mista' Alastor?"

"Remember I can hear you, mon petit oiseau chanteur." Angel's brain translated. Again. That new ability was truly surreal. Little...songbird? What - Angel was confused for only a moment before he saw....no, felt Alastor's emotions in a little vignette in his mind. Angel's body pressed into the mattress, hung from a hook wired to the ceiling, his arms tied behind his back as Alastor's darkness wrapped him up and swallowed him. But that wasn't the most important piece of the image. No, it was his face - nearly glowing and in sharp focus compared to the rest of the scene. His red cheeks, the way his tongue reached for something unseen, the way his chest rose and fell, and the sound. The sound. Do I really sound like that?

"You do, indeed."

Angel flushed bright red and tried to hide his face from Alastor, but the Radio Demon was already several steps ahead of him. A tentacle towered over him, and Angel flinched as the shadow crossed his face and slipped around his neck. Oh, fuck.

"Yes, my dear. That is what I intend to do to you."

"Oh....fuck," Angel managed, voice a dry squeak. "F-fuckin' Hell, Al, y-ya can't just d-do this shit ta....ta a guy."

"Hmmmmmm." The tentacle tightened, just enough to make swallowing hard. Angel bucked and cried out again, but this time Alastor was prepared for that. His gloved hand used the movement to peel Angel's panties from his body, leaving a webby trail of something that glittered between his panties and the hungry bits of him. Alastor's head cricked left in fascination, and then seemed to stretch out in a disturbingly eldritch manner to allow him a direct view underneath the spider's spread knees.

Angel half-shrieked at the sheer...weirdness of it. The...the...oh, come on, Angel. Pull it together! It's just Al. He isn't...he isn't...he can fuckin' hear ya.

"Yes, yes I can." Alastor's fingers curled, digging his claws into Angel's body, curling them into the wet slit behind the mound of his dick. Angel squealed beautifully, and Alastor pulled his fingers out of the spider, lifting them to his face. He scissored them, using his tentacle to keep Angel from hiding his face as he examined the sticky digits, grinning. That grin. That....that fucker, that fucker and his shit-eating, self-satisfied, pompous smirk! Angel growled, snarling at Alastor as the Radio Demon breathed in Angel's scent on his claws and then slowly, slowly licked his fingers clean before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Oh, what a face, my darling! Something to say?"

Angel stopped scowling and pursed his lips as if he were looking at something disgusting. His eyes narrowed defiantly.

"Ahahahahahaha!" Angel's defiance melted into confusion, and then maybe a little bit of fear as Alastor burst into nearly hysterical giggling. What...the fuck? Was he just insane? "Not by half, my dear," Alastor interrupted. "Not insane. Hungry."

Angel shuddered. "Ya...yer not gonna...actually eat me, are ya?" He paused, bit his lip. "Fucked up as it sounds, ah...if that's...whatcher inta, I...I don't mind but jus'....do me th'favor'a leavin' more'n my spine. Takes too long ta regen from..."

Alastor's eyes got sharper the longer Angel spoke. Was his spider telling him that someone had once, in fact, literally eaten him? Had done it for money?

"Angel." The spider demon stilled automatically at the command in Alastor's voice. "Are you telling me that you have been eaten alive? Am I to understand that Valentino required you to be devoured by another demon, for money, most of which he pocketed - and that it was filmed?"

"Y...yessir?"

Deathly cold filled the room as if a bomb had gone off. Angel was surprised to see that Alastor's smile had narrowed to a thin slit. Somehow, this flooded Angel with a strange sense of pride. He squirmed and offered Alastor a smirk.

"That scare ya, Mista' Alastor? Don't like th'idea of anybody else eatin' up yer new snack?"

If he hadn't lightened the mood, acknowledged the pain of it, dismissed the heaviness of the moment - Alastor might have left him there and gone to decapitate Valentino himself. It would be a terrible waste of meat, of course, but Alastor wouldn't let a single forkful of that diseased creature's flesh pass his lips. Valentino was a demonic kind of poisonous, he was sure. Riddled with the kind of rot that could even turn a carrion-eater's steel guts.

"I am astounded, mon petit araignee." Alastor brushed Angel's face and kissed him again, kindly. "Astounded you would allow any man to do such a thing to you. Whyever you would allow such crude use of the...fabulous asset of your body, I cannot fathom. Why anyone would waste such loveliness on a full stomach, I admit, is too much for me to even conceive of." But his anger was fading. Angel could feel it, could feel the heat of his fury fill the space his cold anger had left. Rage was okay. Fury was passionate and red and everything Angel expected of the Radio Demon. That black anger, though. That was something scary.

"Lova'," Angel purred, spreading his thighs and using his strong, flexible legs to lift himself backward, levering his body against Al's tentacle around his throat to get to his feet. His heeled boots felt strangely pleasant on his legs, and Al's touch wrapped down the bare places on his legs. "I've had a lotta terrible shit done ta me. This body don't stop for nothin', toots. Can't stop. Won't stop." He twisted his hips enticingly, and Alastor chuckled.

"As much as I would like to see you prove that assertion," the stag murmured, "I am more concerned that you seem altogether too casually comfortable with massive bodily injury."

"Honey, in my line'a work..." Well, maybe it wasn't his line anymore, huh? He hadn't really decided that. "In my line'a work, there's way worse things than a boo-boo."

"Humbug," Alastor grunted. "Impossible."

Angel grinned as the tentacle tightened around his throat, and stuck out his tongue teasingly. "Sheer....absolute....boredom!" He waved one of his free pairs of hands, and Alastor quickly pinned them to his sides with another tentacle.

"Boredom. Boredom is worse to you than being devoured alive for someone else's enjoyment?"

"Duh."

Alastor looked astounded.

"Don't look so surprised, dollface," the spider said in a venomous drawl. "You ain't the only one bored of the vast pleasure pit that is Hell."

The Radio Demon considered this for several long, silent moments. Was he surprised? Yes, yes he was. Shocked, in fact. He had always taken Angel Dust for a sweet, tender creature in need of guidance. The kind who was easily manipulated, easily swayed, bought with romantic words and gentle touches, with bonbons and pretty dresses. It seemed he had failed to see the monster that resided beneath Angel's cupid-pink candy coating.

This grew more entertaining by the moment. But Alastor was at best uncomfortable with the twinge of excitement in his breast. Not since his fights with Husk had he felt so challenged by another demon. He wasn't sure he quite liked it. He'd expected Angel to be an easy conquest, a pretty trinket to add to his collection. Now, it seemed, he'd opened a Pandora's Box of suffering and strength. And Alastor never could resist digging his claws into someone else's wounds.

"And if I did devour you? What then?"

Angel fought not to flinch. A flood of memories from Set 9 and Set 13 flooded him. Anytime Val was angry with him - for being late, for being too cheeky, for overdosing in a club - he sent him to 9 or 13. Hell had its fair share of freaks and perverts, and you could satisfy pretty much any fetish you had one way or another. Valentino was a purveyor of the kinds of disgusting delights that the most debased miserable souls wanted. Set 9....vore. Set 13? Snuff. Angel despised both.

"Wouldn't be th'first time, prolly not th'last," he said finally, but his entire body was trembling. Still, he was a pro and he wasn't about to let Alastor find out anything scared him. Angel stiffened his muscles to control the shaking as best he could. "If that's what ya really want."

"Hmn." Alastor's claws slid down Angel's chest, over his stomach, and back up his spine. The spider whimpered and looked for a moment like he might start to cry. Alastor's brow knit. "It doesn't appear to be something you want, my little spider."

"Ain't my call, Mista' Alastor," Angel replied slowly. Carefully.

"True that you do not have power to demand anything of me," the Radio Demon murmured. "But you do have a say. I take no delight in taking advantage of those of fairer means." He paused. "Still, it seems I was mistaken about just how fair your means may be, sweetling. It appears you are as fierce inside as out. A sinner with a true talent for survivorship."

Angel felt himself lifted, tucked against the wide lengths of Al's weird tentacle things. His whole body was surrounded....ish? He closed his eyes, trying not to let worry show on his face. But Al had to know, didn't he? He could hear Angel's thoughts, so....he opened his eyes again and was surprised to find himself suspended over Alastor, his body wrapped head to toe in tentacles, his nose nearly touching the deer's.

"Well, fancy meetin' you here," he quipped, his eyes soft.

"Oh? I would think you'd have expected me," Alastor replied, playing along. "I've saved all the dances on my card for you, my darling."

Angel's eyes went a little wide at that. Alastor didn't stop speaking.

"And you see, I'll have need of all your limbs...." There was a luxurious ripple along all the tentacles that made Angel moan in spite of himself. Damn, that felt good. "....all of your muscles...your fur...your flesh...if you are to keep up with me in our little waltz."

Angel couldn't help it. His eyes brimmed and spilled over, silent sobs making his bottom lip quiver as he blinked rapidly, trying to keep from looking too pathetic. Alastor leaned up, tilting his head mechanically to his left, and then gently kissed the tears from the spider's bulbous snout. Angel only cried harder.

If the drugs and alcohol had softened Alastor, warmed him to the idea of intimacy with another demon, Angel's tears flushed all that in an instant. The deer stiffened, feeling his nose wrinkle at the show of weakness. He wasn't any good at comforting others, and he had no interest in it - after all, in Hell, only the strong could survive. Showing weakness, any weakness, was akin to tossing chum in the water. It would only be a matter of time before the predators came sniffing for a bite.

"Smile, my dear," he snipped. "Tears do you no good. You've no reason to cry."

The cold tone sent an empty shiver through Angel. His insides clenched so hard he could hardly breathe. He felt sick. The sharp change had pulled Angel out of his moment of unexpected joy and tossed him bodily into an icy cold pool. He gasped for breath as Alastor's tentacles tightened over his entire body. Suddenly he just wanted to be let go. Or did he?

What was he supposed to say now? He didn't want to ruin the moment, the closeness, the chance at...at what? Had he really thought the Radio Demon would want him? Had he really thought the contract would mean Alastor would treat him kindly? Stupid, stupid, stupid, Angie. Why would you ever believe that he'd want a hot mess like you? Lookit his face. He's disgusted.

In his distress, he'd forgotten - again - that Alastor could hear him. The deer's nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. He was frustrated beyond reason at this. Why was Angel weeping? Why was he suddenly so concerned about whether Alastor wanted him? It was wholly illogical. Even with the doors that the MDMA had opened in his mind and heart, this was beyond his ken.

"Crying is a waste of water, salt, and time." Alastor lowered the tentacles until the cocooned spider was in his lap. "That waste aside, it is a demonstration of weakness. You should know better than to bloody the water, Antoni. Nothing good comes of it. No wonder you've spent so much time at the beck and call of lesser demons. You cannot permit them to observe your frailties."

Angel narrowed his eyes right back, which was silly, because they were already slitted and puffy from crying. "An' whaddaya think I oughta do, then?" He struggled weakly against his bindings, halfheartedly scowling at Al through his tears. "I ain't doin' it on purpose. I was happy, ya creepy fuck. Should I just...not be happy?"

"If you're happy, certainly don't weep," Alastor sniped. "You may as well hang a sign around your neck asking other demons to take advantage!"

"You mean, like you are?" Angel shot back bitterly. "Jesus, you're just one gigantic mindfuck, ya know that, Smiles? It's like tryin'a have a cuddle sesh with a fuckin' woodchipper."

Alastor growled, frustrated. "Why is it you can manage such fantastic insults in the same sentence as you speak such utter nonsense?" Red eyes gleamed, and suddenly the warmth of all the tentacles was gone. Angel shuddered at the sudden chill, and stuck his tongue out at Alastor. "Oh, yes," the Radio Demon slurred saltily, huffing. "That's very mature, Angel. What eloquence."

"I ain't speakin' nonsense," Angel spat. "It ain't nonsense, Al. It's m'life. I ain't askin' ya to change fer me, but yer gonna haveta get used to emotions if this....whatever the fuck this is is gonna work. 'Cuz right now, just seems ta me like I traded one fuckboy for anotha'."

Now, THAT got a rise out of the radio. A loud static squeal cut through the room, and Alastor launched himself at Angel, knocking both of them out of the bed and onto the floor. Without thinking, Angel scrambled, responding to Al's aggression with practiced violence. As his back hit the floor, the spider's long legs folded between his hips and Alastor's, using a measured kick to launch the deer head-over-heels into the bedroom wall behind him. In a heartbeat Angel was on all...all eights?...his body low, loose, and swaying just so slightly side to side with a rapacious rhythm. A low, clicking hum rose from him, and the pink markings down his body glowed hot pink in the dark.

Alastor, meanwhile, was too busy being unreasonably irate at being called a 'fuckboy' to notice Angel's shift in demeanor. Or perhaps he had, and was enjoying it. The jury was still out. Unlike the spider, who moved with liquid grace, Alastor's body shifted and tilted with clockwork clicks, mechanically inhuman. Behind him, the cane that had been abandoned near Alastor's bed flared maniacally to life.

"Oh ho ho! What've we here! Live for your entertainment pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, the prize fight of all prize fights - the Bloody Prince of Chance and the Frosted Termagant of Lechery! Let's see who reigns victorious, shall we? You all know who has my bet -"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Red and pink eyes both turned on the microphone's eyeball as the pair spat the order in unison. The eye widened, meeped, and went silent - just as Angel sprang at Alastor, opening his jaws in a slavering attempt to bite the deer's throat.

Alastor, of course, dodged. He wasn't that stupid. Drunk, and still quite high, but not stupid. He rolled out of the way, grabbing Angel's leg and yanking the spider back under him, slamming him into the floorboards with a snarl. And yet...his smile...was it wider than it had been a minute ago?

"My dear Angel," the Radio Demon purred, his nose pressed to the spider's, "do be a good boy and take that reprehensible comment back."

Angel's body convulsed as the spider used his long torso to curl himself forward, cracking Alastor in the nose with the broadest, hardest part of his skull. He was rewarded with a hissed curse and a taloned slap that bloodied his lip. Spitting the blood out on the floor, Angel offered Alastor a twisted smirk and licked his lips before saying only, "No."

Fur flew. The two demons turned into a roiling ball of screaming and tearing, blood and curses and claws. Interestingly, Angel noted mid-scrap, Alastor had not used his tentacles to win the fight. He certainly could have. He could have leveraged Angel's contract to bring him to heel. He didn't do that, either. Angel's mind lingered on that, and on the comment the deer had made earlier - that he didn't need to make himself 'domesticated' for Alastor's purposes. Was this what he'd meant?

There was hot breath and then teeth on his shoulder, and Angel hissed as Alastor sank his fangs into the tender flesh. For a second he went still, rolling shocks of pleasure and pain arching through him like lightening. Without intending to, Angel let out an eerie, dry chitter. Alastor's head perked up, releasing his prey as the spider eyed him with an expression he could only call voracious. Lewd. Angel took the moment of distraction to slug Alastor as hard as he could, bruising his knuckles on the stag's mouthful of adamantine fangs, but satisfactorially bloodying the other demon's mouth as well as his nose.

Alastor leaned in, and Angel thought for sure he was going to bite his damn face - but then they were kissing, and kissing, and rolling over and over each other until they bumped into the bed and Alastor began to chuckle, just a little, under his breath. The tension broke like an overly-swollen rain cloud, and Angel's own giggling joined the Radio Demon's as they lay tangled in one another, bloody and panting.

"Take it back."

"Fuck, no."

"Angel."

"Ya want me ta take it back that bad, Smiles? Don't do that shit again."

"Hmph. Why would I promise such a thing?"

"Cuz ya like me."

"Nobody said that."

"Yeah, ya kinda did. You an yer bloody fuckin' nose." Angel wiped blood off his face, showing Alastor his black fingers. "Yer kinda bleedin' all over me, ya jackass."

Alastor leaned in, hungrily, and began lapping the blood from Angel's fur. There was more kissing....some awkward scrambling into the bed....and then nothing.


	8. Where is my Mind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel wakes up with no memory of his night with Alastor at the hotel. And not just that. He has no idea where he is, how he got there, or what's going on. And then he makes a gruesome discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty grim, so please take caution. It describes ongoing abuse and torture from Angel's point of view, and it's intended to be pretty scary.
> 
> For those who are curious, I used the songs as a method of "communication" between Al and Angel. In a sense, Alastor is "talking" to Angel - hence the repeat of "tryin' to talk to me, to me" from Where is my Mind.
> 
> The songs I used are actually relevant, if you care to listen to them. They are, in this order:
> 
> 1\. Where is my Mind (the Pixies) - Yoav and Emily Browning cover
> 
> 2\. Walls Could Talk (Halsey) - specifically the Nico Collins cut
> 
> 3\. Show and Tell (Melanie Martinez) - Paranoid DJ's cover as Angel Dust
> 
> 4\. Friday Night Gurus (Studio Killers)

_Where is my mind...._

_Where...is my mind...._

_Where is....my mind...._

_Where....is....my....._

Angel woke up with a choked scream, gagging on the raw, viscous feeling of his throat, coated with a tacky fluid and the sting of semen, burning and angry with every cough. The smell hit him next, pungently rancid, notes of blood and vomit and sweat, the strong scent of cum, and....and something else, the smell of sun-warmed meat, just on the edge of ‘dead animal’. Where was he? The spider tried to move, but his body didn’t respond. The Hell was going on? His body seemed to swing, swimming through nothingness, physical sensation no more than a corona around his limbs and torso, the barest perception of touch that gave no clue as to his location or circumstances.

Dammit.

This was bad. This meant that someone who was capable of taking him out had him - and not just captured, but captured with no warning, and with no memories left to Angel of the act itself. Why not kill him, if they could? The only reason could be profit. Whoever had stolen him intended to make a profit off him in some way or another. That meant danger. Whose pockets were they trying to pick? Val’s? Alastor’s? Charlie’s?

Wait....Alastor’s? That made no sense. Why would Al bother to win him back? Their relationship bordered on barely-controlled hate, and he very much doubted the Radio Demon even remembered his name after the ‘annoyance’ of his presence was gone. Angel choked on a bitter laugh, and bile rose up hard in his throat. Scrabbling to right himself, he collapsed out of the low bed - oh, look, a bed! - and crawled drunkenly across the battered and breaking cement floor to wrap all eight of his limbs around a steel bucket. He rested his forehead on the far rim of the cold metal as he retched miserably. He barely had enough strength to puke. The halo of sensation was rapidly narrowing as his drugged mind shrugged itself up out of a sleepy haze, and the slimmer the buffer, the higher the waves of pain got. The rush of his own blood in his ears made him dizzy and he vomited again, seeing stars.

The world went dark.

_...and I’m thinkin’...._

_I’m thinkin’, damn....damn...._

_If these walls could talk, they’d..._

_They’d be like, shit is crazy...._

_shit is crazy...._

_....shit....is...._

Another screaming plunge into consciousness, another violent round of vomiting. This time there were no blessed buffering painkillers, no morphine, no heroin, no opium, not even a damn aspirin. The world was jaggedly bright. Light hurt. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt.

Being alive was torture.

Angel lay unmoving on the flimsy cell cot, silently thankful for his fur protecting his burned flesh from the broad weave of the woolen camp blanket. The room’s stink had tripled, but now it was absolutely dominated by the smell of rotting meat. Angel groaned and retched again, not even bothering to reach for the bucket. He could feel the blisters on his skin - who knew from what, but every inch of him was burnt to a crisp - and whimpered when the room went cold. He remembered this sensation - dehydration, exposure, sun poisoning. A miserable way to feel, and an even more miserable way to die. But he was in Hell. In Val’s studios. How had he gotten SUN poisoning? Or maybe it was radiation....poisoning....Angel’s mind tilted and rolled, and as hard as he tried to cling to wakefulness, the darkness crept up his spine, covered his mouth with a cold hand, and dragged him under.

_Where is my mind?_

_Where is my...._

_Where...._

“FUCK!” Words seared his throat as Angel came awake with a whimper and a curse. This time, at least, waking up had been more like getting kicked in the ribs, and less like being hit by a truck.

“Fuck. Where am I?”

_...tryin’a talk to me, to me...._

_.....where is......_

_....my mind?...._

The world swam and Angel staggered to his feet and spat. The smell. God, the smell. What was making the terrible smell? He couldn’t....Angel wiped his nose with his arm, and realized he was sobbing. What....why was he crying?

_....waste...._

_Just....just a waste....of salt and tears...._

_....my dear...._

_....deer...._

Pain. Excruciating pain that drove through his brain like a spike. It hurt. It hurt....it hurt....pain, fuck, fuck! He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. The misery drilled through his entire body, a cold pit in his chest, ripping and tearing. He couldn’t....he couldn’t....

“....please....” his voice was dry and desperate, and he could have sworn he heard an electrical squeal in the gleeful laughter that met his plea.

Darkness.

_I’m on display for all you...._

_....for all you fuckers...._

_....show, you....._

_.....you tell......_

_....tell me....._

_WHY CAN’T YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?!_

Alastor!

Angel’s eyes snapped open to pain. His head slowly dropped to his right, and he furrowed his brow at the scene. Something was wrong. Something was wrong here, what....

....hm...

Well, his hair was....his hair wasn’t there. Wasn’t falling in his face. His....his hair was....wasn’t....Angel’s brow furrowed. That wasn’t right at all. Moving his hands and arms was insanely difficult. Two of them hung at ugly angles and simply would not move in certain directions, no matter how hard he tried. Who knew if that would heal, or if he’d have to sever the damn things to avoid being crippled. The one that could reach his scalp found no resistance of fur, only a peach fuzz of hair. Angel bit back a cry of horrified humiliation and kept feeling along his skull. There. There, just above his right eye, reaching back like some kind of...of....murderous parasite horn.....was an antenna. The pain suddenly made sense. That fucker....that....that miserable....fucker!

Angel screamed softly into the rough blanket, rage-hot tears streaking his face.

“You promised,” he whispered to no one, despair crushing his throat. “You promised. Val. You promised, Val. You promised - you SWORE - YOU PROMISED ME YOU WOULD NEVER LET HIM LAY A HAND ON ME, VALENTINO!” The creature in the cell nearly doubled in size. Angel Dust was gone, and in his place was a monster out of some Russian children’s tale. A nearly 16-foot long spider, taloned, venomous and shaking in fury.

The ugly chuckle came again, and without shoes or socks, the loud electrical whine hit Angel full force. His ears rang with it, all the sound-receptive hairs on his body buzzing with the sound. Pain. Torture. The thing that pierced his skull resonated with the sound and sent the kind of agony blazing through Angel that he’d only felt once before.

“Please,” he choked, retching again. “Vox. Please....I....don’t wanna die.”

Laughter.

Agony.

Silence.

Silence....

When Angel looked up next, Vox was gone. The room was empty.

No, no, the room wasn’t empty. The room was full - full of him, and whatever was rotting away in the corner. Nausea struck Angel, but this time he was able to hold back. His sore throat and aching ribs told him he’d been throwing up for days. Maybe a week.

If he couldn’t get rid of that stink, he was going to die of dehydration just from vomiting. He couldn’t tell if he’d eaten anything in the past week, but the fact that the scent of rotting flesh made him salivate both in hunger and revulsion was pretty telling, he supposed. How much water had he lost? How much time?

Angel fought to focus his eyes on the decaying carcass that swung from a meat hook in the center of the room. It was big, maybe around 100 pounds. He could make out legs and a head, but beyond that the creature was rotten beyond recogni -

All that was Angel Dust stopped. Nothing moved. Not a thought, not a breath, not a heartbeat.

This was necessary, of course. This was instinct. This was a way for his body to keep the demonic soul inside it from destroying them both.

Around the neck of the carcass in the center of Angel’s cell was a red collar with a tiny tag in the shape of an old fashioned radio.

“....N....no....N....nuggs....Nuggs? No. No, no no no no no!” Pain.

Pain, God help him, pain. Pain. It hurt. It hurt, someone help him, it hurt. Someone. Anyone. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He couldn’t process. No.

No, this...this couldn’t be real....it....

“Alastor,” he whispered, voice bleak. “Help me.”

Darkness.

_...where is...._

_Where is...._

_Where is the boy?_

_Where is the boy whose bass is big and bold?_

The song beat in his blood, the pulse of the club visible on his white fur. He watched for a few minutes as the patterns fluttered over him, catching in all the crystals on his dress. His smile came slowly, the sort of sloppy, heady grin that only came with a good high. Swarovski. His dress was covered in Swarovski crystals.

_Where is the boy whose beats are made of gold?_

Angel glanced up at the stage to see the DJ turn toward him. A shiver of desire snaked down his spine as he watched the other demon spin a record onto an old-timey turntable, his perked ears and horns sending little thrills shivering all over Angel’s body. He was so....so beautiful. So familiar.

The red demon’s claws scratched the record, making the sound shiver and topple into the BEST timed bass-drop Angel had ever heard. He giggled at the sensation of that deep vibration in his toes, and realized with some amount of shock that he wasn’t wearing shoes. Humiliation flooded him, making him blush pink.

He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he was....he was somewhere in the back of the club with the perfectly crimson demon leaning over him. Those eyes....they glowed red in the darkness of the club, bright, neon red, even more vibrant than the pinks and yellows and greens. They seemed to take up the entire club.

“....h....hello,” Angel mumbled shyly. Why....why did he feel so....nervous?

“I’m not what you want.” The man’s voice was soft, a perfect mid-Atlantic accent that was so damn familiar that it made Angel’s heart hurt.

“I....I don’t want ya I....I think I needja....” Angel found himself hugging the stranger, breathing in the scent of cold winter nights and snow, looking for more...for....

“You’re so cold, Al.”

“Not at all, Angel dear! Why, I feel perfect. It seems that all my troubles with you have finally been solved!”

Angel flinched. “W...what? Troubles? I’m...I’m sorry, Al, I neva’ meant ta be a problem for ya, I’mma do betta’....”

“Oh, you misunderstand me, my gowed-up patsy. To think you’d believe someone like me could carry a torch for a chippy like you. Balderdash and horsefeathers! No, no, no, no, my sweet spider sap. I only spend time with you as an irritating means to an end.”

Ouch. Angel’s stomach dropped as the world fell out from under him. Why did this hurt so much? Why should he care what Alastor thought?

“Yeah, I know,” Angel offered softly. “But I’mma try’n be less irritatin’.”

“Impossible, dear Angel. But I do so look forward to watching you fail.”

Pain. Pain that drove deep into the heart of him.

_.....swear he’s tryin’a talk to me, to me......_

“Al?”

Static, and the sound of radio stations flipping.

“....been lettin’ this shit slide, these bad habits they die too slow...”

“Alastor?”

“Stop bothering me, Angel. I’m busy.”

“Wit....wit what?” Angel took a few tentative steps toward Alastor, whose back was turned. Something eerie, something wrong lingered in the air. Angel’s head ached, and he rubbed his horn-antenna to try and ease the pain. The vibration from his attentions to it sent a little shiver of pleasure down his spine.

Alastor turned deliberately to show Angel what he was....

Pain.

Pain, a lightening bolt of pain in his head, in the cold parts of his chest where his emotions should be. Pain that made his vision blurry and dark.

Alastor’s hands held the remains of Fat Nuggets’ rotten body, his mouth smeared with the hellpig’s blood, licking his lips with a manic expression in his glowing eyes. His grin grew wider at Angel’s wordless despair as he sank to the floor, gasping for breath.

“Really, aged too much longer it would have been wasted,” Alastor murmured, sucking Nuggets’ guts off his fingers as he pressed his palm to the contract that lay on the butcher’s table beyond him. When he lifted his hand again, the word VOID was blazoned across the paper in Fat Nuggets’ blood.

Void.

Void?

Their contract was....

Darkness.


	9. Striptease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having returned Angel to his "rightful" place, Vox and Valentino work to send a very clear message to the Radio Demon - meddling in their contracts will not be tolerated. Alastor, meanwhile, is furious and bewildered by Angel's distance and refusal to return to the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My concept of Angel as a demon in Hell is that he's not an incubus - because Viv has clearly stated they're not sinners. Angel is what I refer to as a 'muse', which is essentially a powerful empath. His powers are based in his ability to control and inspire others. But as Vox and Val point out, being an empath in Hell is basically torture. It isn't common for demons with Angel's abilities to live long. They either end up in the Pit (where sinners end up when they lose the last of their humanity) or killed in exterminations. 
> 
> To keep him under control, Vox has....made some modifications to his mind. 
> 
> The radio songs are important as always. The ones in this section are:
> 
> 1\. We'll Meet Again - Paranoid DJ's cover as Alastor
> 
> 2\. Riptide (grandson)
> 
> 3\. Bruises and Bitemarks (Good with Grenades)
> 
> 4\. Villain of my Own Story (Unlike Pluto)
> 
> 5\. This Maniac's in Love with You (Alice Cooper)
> 
> 6\. Walls Could Talk (Halsey) - Nico Collins cut
> 
> I hope you're enjoying it, my loves! Comment for me? Let me know what you want ;)

_Whoof._

There was a sound, and then a strange sensation of floating....or maybe it was falling? The world around Angel twinkled in dancing ribbons of color as he toppled from the stage, hit the floor of the club and bounced, hard, in slow-motion, before skidding to a stop in a sea of hungry faces.

Angel, consummate professional, had not only made the effort to ensure his fall was flawless (boobs up, butt out, bitches) - but had actually managed to use the bounce-and-skid to flip himself over slowly, lasciviously, before standing up (ass first, like a proper stripper) and slamming his hands down on the runway.

There was chittered laughter, and Angel spun on his heel to offer a cheek tweak, a caress, a secret little smile to each of the demons around him, all six hands and his glazed eyes making quick work of the gaggle.

“Help a fella’ out,” he purred as he stumbled back to the stage, holding out one of his hands and wiggling his fingers before indicating the runway. Like magic, a very tall demon swept him up from behind and set him gently on the stage. Angel grinned and offered his assistant a sweeping, gentlemanly bow, which, of course, gave the opposite side of the audience a rather long-lasting up-skirt view of his meticulously chosen underthings. The crowd on that side of the house went wild. _Good to be the fuckin’ Queen._

The world came in and out of focus as Angel clung to the cool pole. The crowd was a rising heat behind him, a floating cry for _Angel Dust_ , for the blessing of his glance, his smile, his acknowledgement. The room rose and fell at his whims, dancing along the edge of his words, on the curl of his lip. It just felt _good._ He’d missed this like crazy. But...why? The memory slid past him, brushing his fingertips as he reached out for it, the only angelfish in this ocean of demons. The gleam of crimson scales made him feel woozy. That...wasn’t right. Angelfish weren’t red. He...he hated red, he’d never...like something that....

Angel swung his body around the pole faster, using two sets of arms to lift himself up and away from the blaze of the crowd. The cool air over their heads made him gasp in relief. Their emotions fell away, so he could hear himself think, but there was just...nothing in his head. Angel moaned in relief and let himself sag, sliding down the pole to the floor. He squirmed despite himself, the strange sensations that set all his hairs on end cutting into the professional mask. For a second, his facade cracked, and Angel himself was visible. The surge of it, the flare of glowing white and pink in the dark, the sudden rush of warm, jasmine-scented breeze, shattered several of the stage lights, raining a glittering rainbow over Angel as he flared all his limbs out on the stage, offering them to the crowd in all directions. The pack attacked the offering without thought, the rally of the crowd ramping up to a near-howl. Angel was gone from sight.

“Do you honestly believe this will work?” Vox twisted an e-cig in his fingers, tapping the butt against his screen as he stared out of the sound box far above the club’s writhing crowd. “We’re risking an awful lot of damage to the merchandise on this little gamble.”

Behind him, a huge shadow loomed in from the far end of the booth. Slitted red eyes behind wide lenses and gleaming gold frames narrowed at Vox’s statements.

“Truthfully? It don’t matta’, does it?” Valentino’s voice was tight, but still leaked over his teeth like honeyed wine, the ends of his words drifting off in soft southern drawl. “I got damaged goods already. The question now ain’t whetha’ I can restore the little whore’s virginity. It’s whetha’ or not I can make him compliant, and whetha’ I can market his new attitude.” The moth’s smile widened. “But with your help, Voxxy, I ain’t too worried about Angie’s....compliance.”

Vox shuddered, glancing away from his partner with a twitch. He didn’t need Valentino to see his distaste for the plan or the moth’s enjoyment of punishing Angel Dust. The risk wasn’t so much with the little fluffball. It was more about the little fluffball’s self-proclaimed beau - the damn Radio Demon. The Overlord’s screen glitched as he sneered out into the club, watching Angel writhing under the hands, lips, and dicks of at least a hundred demons. His settings clicked to “Record”, and he began to broadcast across the city.

“Angelcakes sure is lookin’ sweet tonight, don’t y’all think?” Valentino purred, still outside the shot. Vox zoomed in, catching Angel’s eyes rolling back in his head as an imp bit down on his neck, drawing blood. “I’m sure his _most loyal fans_ are enjoying the show. He certainly is!”

The camera panned, scanning the room, catching every angle of the ravenous crowd surrounding Angel. For a long time, it looked like the crowd had the upper hand. They swam around him, a school of piranha taking measured bites at his flesh, the flash of his white fur appearing and disappearing in the swarm. When it seemed like the feeding frenzy would get downright violent, something changed. The room’s motion stilled, slowed, and the lights flickered in a heartbeat pattern that echoed the sudden thudding feedback in the subwoofers.

Angel Dust’s body rose to its feet in a smooth reach of limbs, a long stretch of muscle and fur, a swirl of graceful spins. He reached, and there was another shiver of warm breeze in the room, the sound of laughter, the chirp of crickets on a summer night. Those eyes glowed magenta as Angel rose to his full height and the flood of horny demons parted before him, swirling in to close the gap as he passed.

“Damn,” Vox whispered with an appreciative whistle. “As much of a pain in the ass as he is, I gotta admit the kid knows how to work a room.”

Valentino’s smile was hungry. “Oh, Voxxy....you have no idea.” The moth took a long drag on his own cigarette, leaning far - too far - over the edge of the sound box and exhaling the twinkling red smoke so it poured from the rafters, breaking over Angel’s head and unfolding to the floor like some kind of ethereal dress. Angel moaned aloud as the smoke hit him. He breathed in, tipping his head back and clinging to the pole as wave after wave of Val’s little love potion crashed over him, stealing what was left of his thoughts. Instincts roared to life and he leapt, catching the pole in his left arms and swinging himself out over the crowd, a trail of red glitter wafting behind him. When he came down, when his feet hit the floor, he staggered. Dizziness made him weak. He faltered, took a few steps out onto the runway, and collapsed.

The fever pitch of the club seemed to strain the walls, the ceiling, the foundation of the building.

“Ya see,” Valentino was murmuring as he stroked Vox’s antennae, “Our little Angel has a few tricks up those sweet sleeves of his.” The moth gestured expansively over the club. “All he needs is a little encouragement, and....” The crowd howled again, surging as Angel sat up on the runway. He was naked now, pale and radiant on the stage, legs spread and back curved in a glamorous twist that displayed all of his flexibility, his strength, his raw beauty to the gathering.

Vox’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me he’s doing that to the crowd?”

“Oh yeah, baby. Little Angie’s the real deal.”

“Fucking....you....he’s....” Vox twitched, and his screen blanked with a loud announcer’s cry of ‘ _we’ll be back after these messages_!’ The pause was shorter than Val expected, and he was contemplatively staring down at Angel’s luminous dance when Vox sputtered back to life.

“You’ve got an actual empath...a muse...playing incubus for crumpled dollar bills?!” The Overlord’s voice was nearly a shriek of static. “Val, what a thrice-damned waste! That boy could get us all the information we’d need to topple Alastor. Seviathan. Hell, ‘Tino, even Lucifer! And you’ve got him workin’ the stacks?”

Val waved two hands dismissively. “You try keepin’ a muse happy, Voxxy. Especially that one. He’s a loose fuckin’ cannon. Any demon that rare is rare for a reason.” The moth leaned forward, hanging out over the rail of the sound-box. He gestured expansively at the club. “Angie’s brain and soul are a muddled mess, Vox. You can’t ask a muse in Hell to do anythin’ too complex. They ain’t built tough. It’s a miracle he’s lived this long.”

“Did you know?”

“Did I know _what,_ ” Val grunted accusatorially. “That little Anj was a muse when I met ‘im? Jesus, Voxxy, how dumb d’ya think I am? That shiny penny stood out in the alleys of the Pentagram like a peacock inna pig pen. Maybe I ain’t much, but I know talent when I see it.” There was an odd look in Valentino’s eyes that Vox stored away for later analysis. Something he’d never seen before. Something almost soft. Vox’s screen glitched in jealousy, his eyes blinking down to follow Val’s gaze.

“...’Tino.”

The moth exhaled, making Angel glimmer through the red smoke.

“Tino, you can’t do this shit. We’ve gotta...we can’t let the kid...I mean, do you think Alastor knows?”

Valentino’s dark chuckle held a raw note of bitter disgust. “That sexless ken doll? No chance, Voxxy baby.”

—

Alastor. Alastor was...displeased.

It had been almost a week since his little deal with the spider, and neither he nor any of his retainers had been able to pin the damn creature down. Spot him, of course. It was hard to miss him. But Alastor was beginning to wonder exactly what game his new pet was playing with him. Was this intentional? At first, he’d assumed Angel’s distance was a tease. That he was deliberately making himself scarce to see what Alastor would do.

He’d held rather tightly to his temper, if you asked him. Only three broken lightbulbs, a handful of destroyed door handles, and an irritated Husker later, he’d managed to rein himself in enough to ask Niffty where she’d last seen Angel. Lucky for him, the little cyclops seemed to have an unhealthy fascination with Angel’s....what did they call it? Vox-a-something. Ugh. The intolerable arrogance of naming everything after oneself made Alastor’s mouth sour. He sneered. Well, there was simply no accounting for taste. And frankly, Niffty’s ability to navigate the sea of photos and provide Alastor with details about where and when Angel’s candids were taken was of great use to him.

He’d been following the whole sordid bender that Angel seemed to have taken himself on - from the day he’d disappeared until tonight. He’d observed his precious new toy putting himself in shockingly dangerous situations in absolutely unsettling stages of undress. And yet, somehow, no matter how filthy or brutal a scene Angel floated his way through, he always came out at the end of the night looking as pure as the driven snow. Not once had Alastor caught a glimpse of him, a picture, or a flash on a jumbo screen where he looked undone. He was impossibly perfect.

It drove Alastor insane.

He knew, in some instinctual way, that this image was a lie. Perhaps it was his contract with Angel. Perhaps it was the spark of the first intimate connection Alastor had experienced since his death. Perhaps it was something else entirely. Whatever it was, it told him that these images, these carefully crafted glimpses he was _permitted -_ were exactly that. A show, moments in time Alastor was being _allowed_ to have. The question was - who, exactly, was curating this little exhibition?

He’d believed Angel was in control of this game until a day ago, when a photo made its way into his claws that unnerved and troubled him. The photo was clearly the interior of a club called the Whore of Babylon, an expensive joint uptown that catered to a rather powerful crowd. It wasn’t the locale that bothered Alastor; he knew that Angel frequented those sorts of clubs. Frankly, he’d prefer to see the spider in the opulent uptown clubs than find he’d been slumming it somewhere unsavory.

No, what had rattled Alastor about that photo was Angel.

Draped head-to-toe in crystal, his pale slim figure sheathed in a thigh-length flapper dress, _his_ spider was languishing in Valentino’s arms, two fingers delicately twirling a cigarette holder, legs draped over that nasty bottom-feeder’s lap. Val’s fingers caged Angel’s throat, and the expression in the spider’s eyes as he stared into the camera was....

....was....

Alastor wasn’t sure what it was. But he did not like it - not one bit. It reminded him of the hollow looks men wore home from war stirred in with the broken stare of a junkie. It was placid, vacant, demurely willing...and yet it chilled even Alastor’s black heart to see. Rage rose in his throat at that photo, and two days later, he still hadn’t found a way to swallow it. So be it, then.

He would just have to take matters into his own hands.

—

_We’ll meet again....don’t know where....don’t know when...._

The room was spinning. The world was spinning. There was a very handsome demon sitting across from Angel, speaking warmly with a drink in his claws. Woozy though he was, Angel at least felt safe...ish...here. The last few weeks, Val had only been sending him to the highest paying clients. He’d actually...actually shown Angel _affection_ , for the first time in years. Decades, even. No more snuff. No more vore. No more...Angel shivered. Just the good parties. The good drugs. No Velvet experiments and no Vox brainwashing. Glam and glitz and pleasure that painted the spider’s days gold and rose, and left a halo of happiness around him. Why would he ever leave this? He’d missed it, hadn’t he?

_Keep smiling through, just like you always do..._

That voice. Where was that voice coming from? Angel took a few more sips of the champagne in his glass, staring into the liquid to watch the bubbles glimmer joyfully to the surface with a giddy grin. He remembered that voice, but he didn’t know why.

Did it matter?

Darkness.

_I was the one who wanted nothing...._

Music. Lights.

_I was the one who lived in pain...._

Darkness, and that ache. That empty, hollow....Angel shivered as his eyes opened on set twelve. He choked and rolled over off the set-bed to retch. Instantly there was a girl at his side, a young looking succubus who held him as he shook and offered him another needle. He wanted to push her hand away, wanted to shake his head no, but...she pressed, shoving a water bottle into his hands as she grabbed his arm to tourniquet his bicep.

“I’ll do it,” he croaked, snatching the needle and snapping his forearm in practiced motions with the tips of his fingers until he could part the fur and locate a vein swollen enough to use. One of the joys of Hell was the rapid healing. No collapsed veins. No permanent damage. Sure, you could OD - Angel should know. He’d done it plenty. And sure, it hurt like nothing else to come back after an OD. But...well, being sober in Hell was worse, wasn’t it?

_I have done bad things, done them to good people..._

He didn’t even feel the needle. The cold rush in his veins as he pushed the plunger home was so welcome...but the chill didn’t last long. It was quickly followed by a heavy heat in all his limbs, a warming euphoria that had Angel on the nod almost immediately. Which was good, honestly, because set twelve...

His partner was big. Really big. Maybe 15 feet long, head to tail, a massive snake with an equally massive dick. Angel blinked languidly, feeling himself disconnect from the situation with a little giggle. He wasn’t happy. He could feel that. What was he feeling? As the snake pulled him into its lap and bit down on his neck, Angel let his mind drift in meditative contemplation. Mmmn. Poison.

_You bring the ropes and chains, I'll bring the pills and games  
I can show you pain and make you say my name..._

Music again? Whose voice....Angel smiled distantly as the snake demon threw him to the ground, hard enough to break ribs. Across the room, he could see the little succubus grimacing, concern etched in her expression. He smiled at her and waved with two fingers, as if to say ‘ _don’t worry, baby, it’s gonna be fine’._ He wondered if that were true. His mind knew he was in pain, that something was terribly wrong, but he couldn’t feel it, so why worry about it?

And yet, that red....gleam....that voice, that sang songs in his head. His sanity swirled around it, probing, testing, clinging to the last drips of hope he had. Did he like this?

_And I've been the bad guy for so long, I'm growing tired  
Is it too damn late to twist the plot to turn it round?_

Darkness.

—

Husk dodged as the empty liquor bottle smashed on the wall behind him, and hissed at Alastor. Not that it would matter. Another bottle crashed into a thousand pieces.

“Fucker!” Husk ducked again, rising to glare at the Radio Demon with a look of frustration. “Cut that shit out! Yer just gonna destroy the damn place, and that won’t solve any-”

_Crash._

Alastor’s ears were flattened to his head, teeth bared in a full snarl. “Shut up.” The last swallows of another bottle in the deer’s hand disappeared behind those fangs, and Alastor didn’t bother to wipe the overflow from his lips as he flung the bottle as hard as he could. This one struck the edge of the bar and exploded into shards on the lobby floor.

“What in the name of Lucifer is going on in here?” Vaggie rubbed her eyes as she stormed into the lobby, eyes still puffy with sleep. “It’s three in the goddamn morning, you -”

“Duck,” Husk commanded her in an unassuming voice as Alastor flung his glass at the moth’s head. She did so, barely avoiding being clocked with the heavy tumbler.

Vaggie looked stunned. “Husk?”

“Don’t bother, princess,” the barkeep muttered as Alastor staggered to the bar and stuck out a clawed hand. Husk didn’t even try to argue. He just handed the deer another bottle of whiskey and stood clear.

“That....that...disloyal...good for nothing....” Alastor snarled, taking several deep swallows. “Why, I should....we....how dare he!”

“Seriously, what....what the fuck, guys.” Vaggie gestured between them. “I didn’t even know you drank, Alastor. Could you stop fucking up the hotel lobby in the middle of the night? What would Charlie think?” She banked on the statement bringing the Radio Demon to his senses, but that failed brilliantly.

“Think? Think!” Alastor nearly spat his mouthful of whiskey. “How should I know, Vagatha? After all it seems I’m just a fool with no concept of anyone else’s agenda, isn’t that so, Husker? Being made a mockery of by the Disney princess of hell and her little pet, my own retainers, Valentino - and the worst of all of it, by that....that slovenly, self-centered, pompous, traitorous strumpet!”

Husk rolled his eyes and shook his head at Vaggie with a long-suffering sigh. “It ain’t worth it, Vags. He’s gotta let this burn itself out.”

“Is he talking about Angel?” Vaggie slid onto a barstool that seemed to be at least out of the range of Alastor’s wrath, trying not to obviously watch as the Radio Demon stalked drunkenly around the lobby, snarling and lashing out at anything or anyone who got too close.

Husk shrugged, and held a finger to his lips. “Better not say that name too loudly.”

“Or what,” Alastor hissed from across the room, flinging the empty bottle to smash at Vaggie’s feet. “The impotent Radio Demon might get angry? Clearly no one fears my wrath, do they? Whyever would it matter!” With a surprisingly uncharacteristic sound of agitation, the deer turned and kicked one of the barstools through the front of the bar before slamming his hooved foot to the ground. “Just a damn joke to the lot of you, am I? No respect, no consideration, no - _hurk._ ” Al’s eyes went wide for a second and he disappeared with a choked sound and a snap of his fingers.

“Where...Husk, what the fuck.” Vaggie’s brow flattened and her lips twisted up in an expression of bewildered annoyance.

“He went to puke,” the cat said nonchalantly, shrugging. “He’s been doing nothing but drinking and screaming for the last three hours. Since he saw the new clip of Angel.”

“New?”

Husk shrugged. “Ever since Angel left, Vox has been jabbing at Al. Dunno why. But he keeps broadcasting clips of Angel’s new videos, ya know, like teasers from his pornos?”

Vaggie wrinkled her nose. “Why would Alastor care about Angel’s....bad behavior? I thought he _wanted_ to see all of us fail.”

“Listen, chickadee. There ain’t much I know. I’m an old fuck an’ I don’t give half a damn. But I can tell ya that tryin’ ta understand Alastor is good for only one thing. A fuckin’ headache. There’s a lot more under that freak’s smirk than you know.” The chimera sighed, ruffling his wings into a tight tuck behind his body. If the rest of the hotel didn’t know, he sure as shit wasn’t going to be the one to bring Al’s little tryst with Angel to light. He really didn’t like regenerating limbs.

“....that...triple damned....” At that moment Alastor reappeared, half-tripping through his own portal to throw himself angrily onto a barstool and bury his face in his hands. “What does he suppose I’ll do, Husker?” Alastor ignored Vaggie and accepted the glass Husk placed in his outstretched claws. “Does he think I’ll just....show up at one of Valentino’s clubs and take back what’s mine? That I would so openly allow him to manipulate me? And what is Angel’s part in it? The contract is intact. So....what’s their game?”

“Have ya considered maybe there ain’t a game?” Husk’s voice was quiet and careful, and Vaggie raised her eyebrows at the surprisingly tender familiarity in it. She hadn’t really considered the pair’s dynamic before, and frankly she’d assumed Husk hated Alastor as much as she did. But this didn’t look like that at all.

“I have.” Alastor raised his head and blinked unevenly at Husk. “I’ve also considered the distinct possibility that this is Angel’s way of punishing me for...” He glanced at Vaggie, seemed to think better of his statement, and paused. Then he sighed dejectedly and shrugged. “I suppose it no longer matters what you know, Vagatha.”

“At the moment, I know pretty much nothing, _pendejo._ ” Vaggie snorted. “Other than you’re pissed, again, for no reason. Seems kinda like that’s all you know.”

Alastor sneered at the moth. “Those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, Vagatha. I do seem to recall you’re here in Hell with the rest of us and with quite the...comically stereotypical temper.”

“ _Pinchazo racista.”_

“Oh, please, Vagatha. Do spare me the melodrama.” Alastor pinched his nose, anger screwing his mouth into a puckered little sneer. It was really alien on his face, Vaggie thought, and honestly a little concerning.

“Why do you give a damn what Angel and Vox do?”

“First, I give a damn what Vox does because he seems intent on irritating me with his ceaseless blithering. Regarding Angel, I am simply disappointed that I provided him with a once-in-a-lifetime deal that he appears to have entirely broken. I may be a damned soul, but I do have my standards, after all. I simply cannot abide betrayal.”

“Al, ya keep sayin’ betrayal, but y’know, this is kinda Angel’s line of work,” Husk pointed out dryly, his back turned to the pair as he scooped broken glass from the floor with a dustpan and the feathered end of his tail. “I’m not sure ya can make a good argument on tha -”

“I most certainly CAN,” Alastor growled, voice sliding into a deeper register that squealed and scratched. “He accepted my terms, Husk. We made a deal.”

“I should really tell Charlie about that,” Vaggie pointed out, crossing her arms. “Not cool, Al. You can’t just go around OUR hotel making demon deals with -”

The TV behind the bar flickered on.

Immediately, all three demons fell silent, eyes lifted to the scene playing out before them. Angel, two arms clearly broken, fur stained with his own blood, quietly dancing in an empty room. There was nothing but him - barely dressed in a see-through shoulder-to-ankle gown - and a spotlight. No sound. Nothing to break up the image, the loneliness of it, the distant blissed-out look on his face.

Lightbulbs popped. Alastor’s claws grew so quickly they cracked the wood of the bartop, splitting it where the Radio Demon gripped the surface. His eyes flickered from narrowed red pupils to black dials as he watched. Someone called Angel, and the spider moved with staccato rhythm away from the camera and toward the beckoning form in the darkness. He glanced over his shoulder as Val reached for him, blowing a playful kiss to the camera, and then the TV blinked off.

Vaggie and Husk turned their gazes nervously to Alastor, who had in his fury crushed the glass in his hand and was actively bleeding where his hands gripped the bartop. In return, the Radio Demon simply yanked his talons free, smiled demurely, and went icily silent.

“He didn’t look so good, huh,” Vaggie asked quietly, staring at the black TV screen. Husk only sighed in response. “Should we...should we tell Charlie? I mean, what if he needs help?”

Alastor flinched. “I have made several attempts to offer our dear Angel Dust a lifeline, should he wish to return home. He has been....appallingly ungrateful, at best.”

Husk shot the deer a look, but said nothing. There was really no point.

“Well. Perhaps I shall retire, after all,” the Radio Demon murmured after another long, hard stare at the blank television. “Goodnight, my dears.”

“Thanks for the mess, jerk,” Husk muttered, but offered Alastor a jaunty little wave of his tail as the deer clip-clopped off up the stairs.

—

Angel woke up to the sound of his bedside radio playing an old ‘80s Alice Cooper song. He blinked hazily at the ceiling, brows knit. He hurt. His arms ached where they’d been broken, and he was bored and cold. His mind processed the lyrics absently as the song played, not entirely hearing them.

_I used to be so in control, but reality is losing its hold.  
Now I don’t know where to begin -  
just look at the state I’m in!_

_My mind is in total decay  
I’m coming to take you away...  
There’s nothing more that I can do._

Red. There was red in the room again, and fear. Utter terror. Angel’s stomach flipped and for a second he thought he’d puke, but there was just nothing left for him to rid his body of, and instead he rolled over and clung to the pillow. Where was he? He groaned and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes and the crust of jizz from the fur on his face. Gross...shower. He needed to be clean. The spider staggered out of the bed, ignoring the creepy stupid radio, and fumbled his way into the bathroom. He ignored the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Hotel. This must be a hotel. Two sinks and a huge jetted shower, that wasn’t his room. And he didn’t have a bed partner, so whoever he’d been with last night must have left a long time ago.

Moving was rough, but he managed. After all, he was used to this. The water pressure was blessedly strong, stinging even through his fur, and so hot it left his skin pink and raw. He soaped once. Twice. Three times, till it was too painful to do again. Then he shampooed, as many times or more, until every inch of his fur ran clear. No more blood, no more sticky drink, no more bodily fluids. Just white and pink fur and the ache of loneliness.

In the other room, the radio hitched and switched to a new song.

_Been about three days and I'm comin' back  
I'm about four minutes from a heart attack  
And I think you make me a maniac..._

Angel squinted as he rested his head on the tiled wall. Something was wrong with that song. The voice...hadn’t it been a female singer? He knew the song, something modern and clubby, but he could have sworn it was sung by a girl. That voice was too deep, definitely male, and too...too...

Red. Panic.

Angel sank to the floor of the shower, curled in a ball as the nausea doubled. No. No, this was no good. Red....and bad. Terrifying. Why? He buried his head in his hands, digging his fingers into his skull to try and ground himself. He was okay. He was here alone. Nothing was going to hurt him, so why was he so damn afraid?

_You win every game we play,  
There you go - makin’ me always take the blame -  
Why you so low?_

_On your knees, I come back ‘cuz you want me to,  
but you act like I’m the one haunting you?  
‘Cuz you won’t ever look at my point of view..._

_Got your eyes closed._

He hated this song, Angel decided, and stood up in the shower to wing a bottle of shampoo across the room, where it struck the radio with a wet _splat._ The radio, in response, seemed to hum back to him.

_Forgive me, baby -_  
But it’s hard to read your mind  
When you love me in the bedroom but you’re breaking dishes -

_So stop your crying, you’re the one who picks the fight!_

“Yeah? Fuck you too, radio.” Angel glared right at it, wrinkling his nose at the old-timey face of the thing that made the stupid radio look like it was grinning at him. It freaked him out. He was honestly thankful for the knock at the door, even if it _was_ followed by Vox’s smarmy voice.

“You okay in there, Angie baby?”

“Oh yeah, sugar. Always. What’s on the agenda?”

“Get dressed. You’re headlining at the Pentacle tonight.”

“No fuckin’ way!” The Pentacle was one of the nicest nightclubs in Pentagram City. It was the kind of place LUCIFER frequented, a high roller bar of the absolutely highest caliber. Angel had never had the opportunity to perform at a place like that.

“You heard me, babydoll. Hurry it up!”


	10. Dangling the Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel performs at the Pentacle, a high-class club catering to some of Hell's most powerful. Alastor decides he's had enough waiting, and determines to confront the spider himself...when the performance is over.
> 
> Alastor isn't ENJOYING this. Of course not. How could he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know it, the song Angel is singing is Gershwin's 1926 song "Someone to Watch Over Me" from the musical Oh Kay!
> 
> Yes, it was intentional. Yes, it is directed at Alastor. No, Angel does not know that. Not now, anyway.
> 
> This is the first of several chapters that will cover the Pentacle performance. The whole arc is called "Gypsy and the Pentacle" - a reference to Gypsy Rose Lee. For those who don't know her story....go have a Google. Angel is implied to be Gypsy in this arc.
> 
> Please comment, my sugarplums. I thrive on it :)

Alastor sat alone, nursing a scotch and soda as he lounged stiff-backed and silent in his chair. His small table was on the outskirts of the main club floor, as he preferred it. Except for two large, broad leafed palms and the quiet rustle of the staff, he was blessedly unmolested despite the glittering sea of Hell’s royalty creating a low thunder of chatter in the massive speakeasy-styled club. Ah yes. The Pentacle. If not for the unnecessary crush of patrons, it might have been one of Alastor’s favorite nightclubs in all of Hell. As it was, for whatever reason, the establishment insisted on filling the entire space with seating for its clientele, making the club feel more like a crowded theatre than a charming restaurant and bar.

It could have been worse, he supposed. At least he hadn’t been forced to suffer through a performance at one of Valentino’s strip clubs. Though he was pleased that the only place Angel had been seen lately was the Whore of Babylon, he still didn’t want to set foot in the place. Certainly it looked respectable from a distance, but Alastor knew better. Anything Valentino owned was by default coated in semen, smack, and sin, like a rime of frost that settled on the moth’s entire domain. And they all reeked of Valentino’s dust, the scent of his disgusting pheromones and flesh that clung to the scales he left behind like a befouling glitter.

He truly despised Valentino. At first, before Angel and before the Hotel, he’d hated the moth on principle - because of what he stood for, and because of his relationship with Vox. It was the sort of hatred one might feel when looking at something offensive. A distant, cold distaste that curled his lip and made him shake his head in disappointment.

But now...

Now his hatred was barely contained, brought to a rolling boil over the flames of Angel’s stories. He’d closed his eyes to Val’s behavior in the past. Considered it a necessary evil. Believed, naively, that the souls who contracted with the Overlord of Lust did so willingly. That fantasy violently shattered, Alastor was now faced with a repugnant truth: Valentino was an abusive, sadistic, domineering pimp with absolutely no respect for those of fairer means.

_The whoremonger abides._

Well, Alastor could not. Abide, that was. The stench of Valentino’s miserably rotting heart filled the deer’s nostrils and brought burning bile into his throat. No, this couldn’t stand. Not now that he knew the kinds of torture the moth inflicted on his bound souls behind closed doors. Certainly Alastor understood the need for punishment, as an Overlord; why, it came with the very territory! And some souls were too...wayward...for their own good. But Valentino’s management style was more than crude and mean-spirited. No, it bordered on cruelly vain. The Radio Demon’s eyes flashed with a memory from the long, long past. The way his mother’s family had treated him, had treated his father. The way her brothers had treated her.

The clattering of china as one of the waiters swept by him had Alastor checking his person. Hmn. He retracted his claws and spoke softly to the Eldritch in his blood, soothing away the ripples of hunger that rose when he’d lost his temper with the recollection. Like him, the Eldritch despised the thought of slavery. It stood tall in the face of intimidation, his shield against the all-too-familiar feeling of being seen as less-than. Since the first, the Eldritch had been Alastor’s wrathful wishes come true, a being that thrived on his spiteful, malicious compliance with the societal role demanded of its half-breed master.

Perhaps his own history explained why Alastor was sitting in the Pentacle on the night Angel Dust was headlining its infamous burlesque show. Perhaps he could no longer stand the thought of Valentino’s shackles on the spider, now that he knew the truth. Perhaps he couldn’t unsee the way his cousins were treated when they ventured too close to the cotton barons’ homes, couldn’t wipe clean his mind of the way handsy men had sneered the word ‘mulatto’ at him when he’d stepped in to defend his darker family members. Perhaps he couldn’t untangle that memory from the reality before him - that Valentino’s whores were as trapped as his beautiful cousins had been, that they were as abused as his mother and as damaged as his father. That their status in Hell was its own form of torture, its own racist, classist pressure that bore down on them until they broke beneath the claws of the power-hungry.

Well, he had laughed last back then, and he’d laugh last again now. Alastor’s claws tightened on his glass as the lights in the club began to dim, his eyes glowing with furious purpose in the darkness. He would bring his flavor of justice down upon Valentino, just as he’d done to all those snobbish, self-righteous ofays who’d thought just because their skin was pale, they had the right to take whatever they wanted - including a woman’s virtue.

As the sound dulled and faded, leaving behind only traces of whispers, the club fell into twilight. Each of the tables twinkled with the tiny stars of candles, glimmering as the lights over the stage rose. Blues and cool whites sprinkled the stage, casting the tall unmoving form by the microphone in shadow. Alastor knew whose silhouette he was watching, but the knowledge didn’t stop his brain from stuttering for just a second as the silhouette’s breathy voice twined into familiar piano chords.

This song...

“There's a saying old, says that love is blind -  
Still we're often told, "seek and ye shall find"...  
So I'm going to seek a certain lad I've had in mind!”

The spotlight’s glow grew as the music swelled. Angel lifted his head. He was shrouded head-to-toe in an off-the-shoulder a-line in brilliant cobalt blue chiffon. The gown’s diaphanous, flowing cut clung to Angel’s body, leaving little to the imagination and allowing enough light to penetrate the gown that his silver underclothes and cherry blossom pink markings were visible when he moved just the right way. It glittered and floated even though he wasn’t moving, and when he spread all his arms, the sheer gloves covered in black and silver spiderweb embroidery paired with the blue of the dress and the white of his fur in a way that made him look astonishingly ethereal.

Alastor reminded himself to breathe, blinked several times, pursed his lips, and went back to sipping his highball.

Angel continued his song, the words soft on his lips, his singing voice a murky and glittering mezzo-soprano, higher than a baritone and with the distinct femininity. Alastor absentmindedly licked his lips.

“Looking everywhere, haven't found him yet...  
He's the big affair I cannot forget!  
Only man I ever think of with regret.”

The spider was a brilliant performer, Alastor mused. The way he moved his hands, the graceful curl of his fingers around the microphone stand, the cast of his eyes when he sang the word ‘regret’. It felt real. Too real. Anger curdled in the Radio Demon’s chest, making his nostrils flare and his eartips twitch. He wanted this song sung to him alone, and yet here was _his_ spider, singing it to a full house of the only demons Alastor couldn’t mindlessly rend limb from limb. No, with this group the wrathful deer would have to be cautious. Diplomatic. His mouth twisted sourly and he struggled to maintain his collected smile.

“I'd like to add his initial to my monogram -  
Tell me, where is the shepherd for this lost lamb?”

As the music shifted, a dark ring slowly drifted down from the rafters of the club, coming to a stop behind Angel and framing him in its dark circle, creating the illusion of a much larger, old-timey suspension ring microphone, with Angel’s body playing the coil at its center. Alastor resisted the urge to snarl his approval, salivating.

When the ring stopped moving, Angel lifted the back of the dress, revealing just how much fabric was pooled at his feet. Slowly, the spider stepped into the ring, grasping it with all three sets of hands at 11 and 1, 9 and 3, and 8 and 4. He created a beautiful web inside the ring with his body, sitting down at the six-o-clock spot at the lower sweep of the ring and letting himself swing, toes pointing in his lacy slippers as the ring swung gently to and fro under his weight.

As he continued the song, the ring began to rise, floating up over the stage. The pooled fabric flared like wings beneath him, fluttering as he swung girlishly over the stage, using his head and legs to swing the ring further and further front and back.

“There's a somebody I'm longin' to see -  
I hope that he, turns out to be  
Someone who'll watch over me...”

His hair, which was coiffed into perfect 1920s curls and waves, grew looser the longer the ring swung. It softened around his face with flowing tendrils, giving the impression of a slow and gentle release into relaxation. When the ring reached its apex, Angel arched his back and stood in the ring, sending it twirling in slow circles that created a vortex of fabric below him. Two deft hands moved at his waist, and the train of the dress tumbling to the floor in a fluttering pool of blue.

“I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood...  
I know I could, always be good -  
To one who'll watch over me.”

In a smooth movement, mid-lyric, Angel swung up. His arms lifted his long body free of the ring, which spun faster under the new duress. Alastor nearly shouted when the arachnid entirely released the ring and threw his head back, seeming to fall toward the floor, only to hook his knees around the bottom of the ring at the last moment and bring his body back up to a seated position with a graceful confidence in his own centrifugal force.

He slid forward, slipping off the ring as easily as a woman might slide into a pool, the shoulders and hands of his top set of arms looping around the ring to hold him in place. His two other sets of arms flared out to his sides like wings, and his long, long legs twined together with his feet pointed, a beautiful long line of muscle from torso to toetips.

As he twirled, spinning slowly, his eyes fell on the crowd below. He seemed to sing to them, and Alastor found himself roughly grabbing the wrist of a passing waitress to demand a gin rickey. Husker would have scowled at that and told him he only drank gin when he was angry at himself. Husker would have been correct.

“Although he may not be the man some  
Girls think of as handsome  
To my heart he carries the key...”

The Radio Demon was gulping down gin in annoyance, his free hand balled under the table against his thigh, pressing the tips of his claws into his palm. For Angel’s sake, he hoped the spider wasn’t doing this on purpose - leading him on, teasing him. His ears flicked back and stayed there, ever so slightly flattened in frustration. Angel had released the ring as he sang, dropping lower with only one hand holding the ring itself, his others on his hips, his waist, one tangled in his hair, and one, as he sang the last line, pressing to his heart.

Then, tantalizingly, Angel used his core to lift his entire body, hooking it around the ring and slowly, slowly reclining in the circle. It had stopped spinning and now only rocked gently, looking for all the world like an enormous cradle with Angel’s pale body and gossamer blue dress glowing at its center.

“Won't you tell him please to put on some speed,” the spider sang, voice getting lower and more intimate, tinged with sadness as he tilted his head toward the crowd and dropped his shoulder, reaching out his arms and fingers plaintively. “Follow my lead, oh....” A hand came back and pushed the hair out of his eyes, lingering on his face, pinky nearly between his lips in a sensual fan of fingers over his face. “...oh, how I need....” His legs parted and flared, creating a diamond between his crotch and toes as he bucked his hips, making the ring wobble with the desperate motion. “Someone to.....watch....” The high, crystalline note lingered in the air to the sound of warm radio feedback as Angel rolled over onto his stomach on the ring and trailed his fingers down toward the crowd, as if they were a slow-moving river that he stroked with gentle touches. “Over me.”

The song ended.

The lights went out.

In the darkness, at the back of the club, the gleam of a 1920s radio face hummed against the black. Alastor closed his eyes, muffling the hum, and slugged the rest of his drink.


	11. The Beast and the Harlot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentino stakes his claim on Angel - rather publicly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few TWs on this chapter:
> 
> Racism / Talk of Racism in the context of Hell (let's just say it's not pretty)  
> Public Sex  
> Drug Use
> 
> The song that inspired the title of this chapter (and much of the chapter's plot) is The Beast and the Harlot by Avenged Sevenfold, if you wish to listen ;)

When the lights came back up, Alastor’s glass was empty and Angel, in a substantially skimpier gold dress, was perched in Valentino’s lap at one of the largest tables near the stage. Valentino looked infinitely pleased with himself, applauding for the spider and making a grand show of letting Angel get up on the table to take several sweeping bows and wave at the crowd while a gaggle of chorus girls took to the stage to perform a vulgar dance to an overly-loud rock song.

When he stepped down slowly from the table, a sweet sashay, Valentino was grinning.

“What a performance, Angelcakes.” The moth’s eyes were surprisingly soft, and his hands gentle where they gripped Angel’s waist. He couldn’t help himself - he shivered and smiled shyly back at Val.

“Only th’best for you, Daddy.”

“My sweet baby.” Val swept his broad-brimmed hat off his head and set in on Angel’s, drawing wolf whistles from the crowd. Angel flushed and offered Val a coy flutter of his lashes, feeling a giddy shiver wash over him. “And that was only the beginning! Blow their minds tonight, suga’, an’ we’ll make sure this circuit is your regular.”

“Oooh!” Angel’s squeal drew chuckles from the surrounding tables, and he leaned back in Val’s lap, using his lower arms to hang on to the moth’s wings so he could flop nearly backward, his fluffy “tits” nearly bursting out of the top of the low-cut dress, and blew a kiss at the sea of faces.

“Attaboy.” Val visibly reached forward and tweaked one of Angel’s nipples, getting a loud singsongy moan for his efforts. Alastor could hear it even in the back of the room - a clear, stage-loud sound that was obviously intended to carry.

So, that was their game? A public display of....of...what? Fornication? Debauchery? Alastor spat acid into his glass and thrust it at a passing waiter.

“Gin. Neat.”

“....y...yes, Mister Radio Demon.” The wide-eyed waiter grabbed a platter and thrust it under the glass, ogling the rapidly melting bottom with blatant terror.

“Good man. Be quick.”

He could hear the titters as the waiter showed the glass off to the other back of house staff. He knew the rumor would travel, but he was too irritated to care. Let them all fuss and carry on. At least they’d stay out of his way when he confronted Angel. And he would. Confront him. Under the table his claws twitched, hungry to do more, to rip through the room and demand an answer immediately with Angel’s treacherous neck twisted in his grasp. But he didn’t dare. Not here.

As always, Hell found a way to fuck him. It really was brilliant at that. Despite the fact that Alastor was, technically, not a damned soul in a Christian context, Hell was still Hell. He’d known that when he’d made his deal with _Maitre Carrefour._ Still, the Lwa had made good on his promise when Alastor delivered the required souls - he’d given the deer a place in Hell with all of Death’s souls at his beck and call, had blessed him with the ability to keep the Eldritch and his black blood, and had made Alastor nigh untouchable compared to the sea of Christian sinners that flooded Hell.

But despite all that, Kalfou couldn’t change the nature of Hell. Ironic punishment was the name of the game down here, and even the old gods weren’t completely immune.

As in life, so in death, it seemed. While Alastor gained power, repute, and the uncanny ability to manipulate almost anyone into doing his bidding, he was still an _outsider_. A half-breed. A mutt. Still forced to try and play the games of the rich and powerful of Hell, the ruling class who had only breathe a word of desire for it to be fulfilled. When he’d first arrived, the anger was all he’d felt. Fury that he’d been tricked, in his mind, by the Master of the Crossroads. Thrust into another pathetic society where ‘his kind’ was looked down on and used, laughed at behind closed doors where the blessed royals sipped their cognac and played their games of multidimensional chess.

Well, he’d proven them all wrong, hadn’t he? Killed three Overlords and enslaved three more, and drawn another half a dozen to his cause. It would have been a full baker’s dozen, too, if that back-stabbing television-head hadn’t gone and dropped a dime on him. He would absolutely never forgive Vox for foiling his plots, but even worse was the sting of betrayal. Alastor couldn’t stand a fair-weather friend.

Even so, in spite of all his work, regardless of the library of flesh-bound tomes in his study that represented his masterwork of contracting prowess...he was still an outsider. Still forced into the shadows of the have-nots by those lucky enough to suck on a silver spoon. His smile widened to force down the sneer that threatened to break through his carefully crafted mask.

Angel, meanwhile, was blissfully ignorant of the Radio Demon in the corner. Blissfully ignorant and wholly focused on Valentino, who by now had him sitting on the table, sipping from a fancy champagne flute and tittering to the flock of demons who crowded around the table, practically ignoring the girls on stage. Normally, Angel would have told them to quit being rude and handsy and give the performers their due, but champagne had this tendency to make his head bubbly and Val’s undivided attention only made it worse. Why not, anyway? This was his show, wasn’t it? These boys wanted a diva, and far be it from little ole Angel Dust to deny them. He could play the innocent starlet if that’s what they were into...though the slavering looks he got whenever Val snuck a hand up his skirt or kissed him a little too deeply said that even if he started the evening pristine, these fuckers wanted the full monty.

Not that he wanted to say no to that, either. This shit was his JAM. Thousands of fellas in this club and almost all of ‘em had their peepers glued to ANGEL. He offered the cluster of demons another fierce smile as Val pulled him closer, folding his wings over the spider. Val knew just how to pose - after all, he hadn’t become the Overlord of Lust without a little experience. He flared his shining wing over Angel’s torso, hiding all the juicy bits from sight and letting the crowd get a good look at Angel’s chest, legs, and face as he reached into the spider’s panties with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Ah....’Tino!” Angel’s face morphed into something pouty and faux-shocked, lifting his hand to his lips with a coquettish flutter of his lashes. “Ya can’t! Everyone’s watchin’!”

The moth’s long feelers fluttered, a ripple of movement that began at his skull and ended at the furry tips of each appendage. Valentino grinned and licked his lips oh-so-slowly as he buried his fingers in Angel, resting the flat of his wrist against the mound of the spider’s retracted dick. This time, when Angel moaned, there was real lust under that theatrical noise. His face and chest flushed pale pink.

“I see that, sugar lips,” the Overlord purred, tilting his head toward the group with a knowing smile. “Maybe I wanna give these poor suckers a show. I know you can sing real pretty for me, Angie baby. Let’s make these boys jealous, mmm?”

A real flush and a look of lustful mischief in Angel’s eyes only made the scene more enticing. The group of demons around them hooted and cat-called their approval, calling out for Angel to show his legs, his tits, and a few raunchier bits of anatomy that Val waved away with his two free hands.

“Sugar lips, Daddy?” Angel tossed his hair, running a hand up over his chest and through his chest fluff, humming a few bars of Marina’s Bubblegum Bitch. A few of the boys joined in to sing the chorus, drunkenly off key. Angel giggled and egged them on.

“Y’all wanna steal me with a kiss, boys?”

There was a hoot and holler. Val pulled him closer, curling three fingers into his body until he keened with pleasure. The club roared around him. Angel was fucking MELTING. He’d snorted a line before his first song, and by the time he’d finished the song he was flying high. His chest and nose were blessedly numb, which was good, because Val spun him around just then and jammed two of his stupidly long fingers down Angel’s throat. Even with his gag reflex, the Overlord’s hand would normally have been too big. You didn’t get to be fifteen feet tall without the hands to match. Angel shivered at the thought, thinking about other appendages of Valentino’s that were built to scale on the moth’s insane frame. He couldn’t help himself - euphoria rolled over him and he moaned, his body biting down on Valentino’s hand as the moth fingered him.

It felt good. So good. There was a warm buzz in his mind and a heaviness in his limbs, and the world was sparkling and bright and perfect. And ‘Tino, his ‘Tino, the clever, ambitious creature he’d fallen in love with nearly a century ago when they were both nothing....his ‘Tino was two knuckles deep in him in one of the most exclusive clubs in all of Hell, claiming him in front of the world. If he died a second time, right here, right now, he would die happy.

“What do you think, ya hungry buncha alligators?” Val swept his wing out of the way for a brief moment, flashing Angel’s body in its state of delicious disarray, his dress hiked up over his hips and pulled down under his chest fluff, his legs spread wide over Val’s lap and his thighs slick with his own juices. There was a communal shout of glee, and Angel writhed, bucking his hips to show off just how wet he was. As he settled back into Val’s lap, the moth showered him with wing scales, making his markings glow and his eyes roll back in his head.

“Fuck, Daddy. Mess me up for these fellas. Show ‘em who’s boss.” Fingers were on the mound of his sex, coaxing his heavy cock from its sheath. His body throbbed and Angel offered a sultry shimmy of his shoulders to the demons around him, accepting a fluffy-looking pink drink from one and extending his tongue so another could place a pill in his mouth. He winked at the crowd. “Y’all can fuck me up too if ya wanna,” he purred. “If ya think ya can keep up with m’Daddy.”

Val growled over his shoulder, baring his teeth at the other demons, and then winked with a laugh. “Don’t worry, boys, there’s plenty of holes to go around. Pay up and you’re in for a wild ride.”

Angel whimpered, biting back the desire to protest. He really didn’t _want_ any of these other fellas to fuck him. He _wanted_ ‘Tino, his warm body, his soft eyes, his praise. Fucking a stranger was cool and shit, and he was high enough that any orgasm would be mind-blowing, but the heart wants what the heart wants.

“Fellas, fellas!” He cried, throwing his hands up and trying to focus on his performance in front of the patrons and not on the feel of Val’s fingers in his cunt. He shivered at the thought of the word. _Cunt._ What a dirty...slutty...word that was. He could hear a cultured voice scolding him for his use of language, tsk-tsking him with hard eyes and a strange soft smile. There was the buzz of a radio in the background, and Angel’s head rang with it. For a second, the euphoria was gone and everything was blazingly clear. His head lifted and his eyes flung themselves to the back wall of the club. For just a moment, in the dark, his eyes met two red glowing radio dials. Euphoria turned to panic, and panic turned to pain.

Angel nearly screamed, but found his mouth full of Valentino’s fingers, and then liquor. And more liquor. His antenna itched, and Angel rubbed it gently with one of his hands, letting the hum rock him back to sweet sleep.

For a moment, when their eyes met, Alastor....Alastor _felt_ something. Ugh. Disgusting! He shuddered, sucking down the rest of his gin so fast his nostrils burned. Feelings. Horrid things. Made you prone to all sorts of tomfoolery. Still, the feeling wouldn’t leave him. It lingered in his mouth like the taste of bathtub gin. Foul. Unnatural.

His hatred for Valentino doubled in that moment. Perhaps he redirected the unknown feeling toward the moth, or perhaps he identified the other Overlord as the emotion’s disgusting source. Whatever the truth was, Alastor didn’t care. All he knew was he despised the moth, and he was going to wrest Angel from him and return the spider to his rightful place - as Alastor’s pawn.

But right now, he had to keep himself under control. He had to watch, an emotionless observer, watch as his little pet project betrayed him over and over. As he dragged Alastor’s good name under his heel across that stage, as he let Valentino _fuck_ Alastor _by proxy._

Rage seared through him, burning all else away. He would kill that moth. Kill him and his pompous, self-centered patsy of a boyfriend. They thought they could fight with Alastor over rights to a soul?

“All in time. All in time.” Alastor's voice burned cold.


End file.
